


Alex In the City

by BymagaJones



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BymagaJones/pseuds/BymagaJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU starting around the beginning of season 2 - Kurt's father didn't survive his heart attack, causing much upheaval.  The story takes place two years later, in New York City.  Puck and Mercedes volunteer at a homeless shelter for Thanksgiving and run into an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alex In the City

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: "Glee" would be looking totally different if I owned it - or even had a say in how things were going over there.
> 
> Author’s Notes: I'll be posting a chapter a day.
> 
> Kurt is underage, but I chose not to put that in the archive warnings, since nothing... untoward happens to him.

Chapter 1: Alex In the City  
  
  
Snowfall blanketed New York City, rendering everything - the buildings, the streets, the sidewalks, everything - magical and hushed, as if the entire city had lain down for a quiet, soft nap.  Two minutes later, the city awoke, the pristine white snow mangled into dirty slush tossed from speeding cabs onto jaywalking pedestrians, dogs marking their territory before pulling along their owners, whose attentions usually alternated between a conversation on their bluetooth and texting frantically with hands enclosed by fingerless gloves.  
  
Alex exhaled, surprised when he still saw a weak white mist emerge.  He’d been standing in Washington Square Park for more than two hours - he’d been there when the snow reminded him of moments in his previous life, and he’d been relieved when he’d been joined by the homeless, the college students, the pedestrians, all of whom put down their marks with their dirty footsteps and snowball fights, and in a few cases, snow angels.  
  
Shifting onto his right foot, he adjusted his hat over his ears, cursing the outbreak of lice that had erupted in the shelter three days ago, forcing him to shave his hair yet again.  It had been the third time in four months, and he was sick of always having to wear hats to keep his head warm when his own hair might have been perfectly acceptable.  
  
Besides, a hat was yet another item he had to make sure he kept with him at all times so it didn’t get lifted.  He didn’t have extra money to buy another one.  
  
He shifted to his left foot, absently squeezing the army surplus bag he always carried draped over his chest, and finally saw Barney, one of the regular Washington Square Park dealers, stroll into the park.  Yet another white boy who imagined himself a brother from the street, Barney sidled to his corner, only his willpower holding up the large, baggy pants he always wore.  His big, baggy jacket looked really warm, Alex thought wistfully, shoving his fists deeper into the pockets of the jean jacket he’d thrown over his sweatshirt.  Alex knew that the inside left side of Barney’s jacket would be filled with little dime bags of coke, the inside right ready for the steady wads of bills he’d be exchanging for those packets.  
  
Alex was sure Barney had scoped him out before he’d even stepped foot into the park - the guy had been dealing for as long as Alex could remember, longer than any other dealer Alex recognized, so Barney wasn’t stupid enough to get himself caught by the police or shot up by someone wanting his territory.   After a few seconds, Alex strolled over to Barney, jerking his head in a nod, careful not to make eye contact.  
  
Barney nodded back.  “You finally ready to partake of some of my bounty?  It’ll give you something to be thankful for, and you know the first taste is always free.”  
  
Alex shook his head.  “Looking for Chase.”  
  
“Haven’t seen him,” Barney said.  
  
Briefly, Alex looked into Barney’s eyes, stared at his face for a moment.  
  
“You think I’m lying?”  
  
Alex shook his head, stepping aside when he saw a teenager hesitantly walk up to them.  He turned his back and feigned interest in a couple trying to make a snowman while Barney did his business.  He kneaded his bag with his cold fingers, feeling the shivers return, and reminded himself to relax his muscles to help ward off the chill some.  
  
“Alex!”  Alex turned around to Barney.  
  
“I haven’t seen Chase in a couple of days, which means he’s due.”  
  
“Yeah,” Alex said, more an exhalation than an actual word.  He could sense Barney staring at him and felt the questions that would never be asked, that he would never have answered anyway.  “I’ll wait another few minutes.”  
  
“Got nowhere else to be?”  Barney laughed.  
  
Alex chuffed out a small laugh.  Normally, he would have all the time in the world, but today he actually had plans, things to do before he had to return to the shelter.  Today was one of the two days when he actually had a lot to do, and this day was the most special of all, because today, after so long he could barely remember what it was like, he was finally going to have a safe haven.  
  
A movement at the corner of the block caught both his and Barney’s attentions.  
  
“There’s your boy,” Barney said, “and he looks like he needs me more than he needs you.”  
  
Alex didn’t bother to respond as he watched Chase, hatless, his wet blond hair plastered so tightly to his head that he looked almost bald from a distance, jog toward them.  Chase’s usual crew, the short goth chick and her boyfriend, the kid with the large glasses, followed him, their black hats tugged low over their ears.  
  
“Hey,” Chase said as he walked up to Barney, so intent on satisfying his habit that he didn’t even notice Alex.  “You got what I need?”  His voice seemed to shake harder than his body.  
  
“You got what _I_ need?”  Barney asked.  
  
They shook hands, exchanging money and merchandise without ever looking each other in the eye, and Chase turned to leave.  
  
“Chase,” Alex said quietly.  
  
Chase turned around and stared at Alex for a few seconds, like he was trying to remember how he knew him.  
  
Alex waited calmly.  
  
“Alex,” Chase finally said.  
  
“So, Momma Cass was wondering if you’d stop by today, come say hello.”  
  
Chase’s attention bounced between Alex’s left and right sides, never actually connecting with Alex’s eyes, but Alex continued to stand motionless, waiting patiently.  “Today’s not really a good day.”  
  
“It’s the one day,” Alex reminded him.  
  
Surprise brought Chase’s gaze up to Alex, and Alex could see how the blue eyes, once sparkling and determined, filled with kindness and humor and warmth, now looked watery and bloodshot, a weary acceptance threading through them.  “Maybe I’ll try to stop by,” Chase muttered.  “Same time?”  
  
Alex nodded.   “Same rules apply.”  
  
Chase nodded back.  He looked Alex up and down.  “You’re looking good.”  
  
Alex shrugged.  
  
A few awkward seconds later, Chase turned to go.  
  
“Wait.”  Alex pulled off his hat and shoved it onto Chase’s head.  
  
His lips curling into a smile that never made it to his eyes, Chase looked at Alex’s fuzzy dome.  “Lice again?”  
  
“As regular as snowfall,” Alex responded, his smile just as confined.  
  
Chase turned back around and walked away, followed by his two shadows.  
  
“You sure you don’t want a few hours of a pain free existence?”  Barney asked.  “It’s a hard knock life out there, baby.”  
  
“I’ll pass,” Alex said.  For once he had the money, but most of it was rolled and tied around his waist in a long piece of panty hose he’d found in the trash a few months before.  He nodded to Barney and walked away, trying to ignore the wind as it skimmed over his scalp.  
  
 ** _GLEE               GLEE              GLEE               GLEE             GLEE              GLEE_**  
  
When he slept, Puck slept _hard._ He’d once slept through a night when his sister and mother had run around the house screaming, chasing a bat that had flown down from the attic.  Evidently, they had not only run around his room, but Hannah had actually jumped on his bed.  So it took something hard-core to rouse him from his slumber, and he was never in a good mood when awakened.  Throwing open his door, he screamed, “What the hell, Aretha!”  
  
Mercedes paused, the vacuum still vibrating against the wall to his room.  “I told you that this is my major cleaning day in the winter.”  
  
“You’re vacuuming the fucking walls?”  
  
“Spider webs,” she shouted back, returning to her work.  
  
“You’re going to wake the neighbors and get us kicked out of here!”  
  
“It’s eleven o’clock, Puck,” Mercedes said.  “Thomas left for home early this morning, and I’ve done all the quiet stuff while you slept.  It was time for the walls, and I’m on a schedule.  Remember, we’re volunteering at the shelter today.”  
  
“Shit,” Puck muttered, glaring at Mercedes for another second before returning to his room and slamming the door to show his displeasure at the whole damn thing.  The band had played a gig the night before, and then he’d hooked up with a girl afterwards, so he hadn’t even gotten home until after six am.  He’d forgotten that Mercedes had cornered him when he’d first arrived two months ago and had gotten him to agree to volunteer with her at… he couldn’t remember the particulars.  He just knew that it meant he’d be spending an evening feeding a whole bunch of smelly homeless guys.  
  
He flopped back on his bed and looked around his room.  He’d really lucked out, his timing unnaturally good.  Three months ago, he’d been stuck in Lima, working a dead-beat job, when he’d gotten a call from Tyler, someone he’d met in New York when they’d come up for regionals.  They’d jammed together at a club one night, and they’d exchanged numbers.  When he called, Tyler had told him that his band needed a new guitarist and backup singer, and he’d wanted Puck to come up and audition.  Fortunately, Aretha had managed to nab a partial scholarship to Tisch School of the Arts and had found off campus housing with two upperclass students, so Puck had been able to crash on her sofa.  The day after his tryout, Tyler had called him back and offered him the gig.  A few days after that, one of Aretha’s roommates’ fathers had had a stroke, and he’d taken a sabbatical from school to go home, leaving an empty room and the need to find a roommate before rent was due the next month.  Enter Puck, who felt sorry for the guy’s dad and all, but it totally scored for Puck.  
  
The pounding on his wall stopped, and he heard the vacuum fall silent.  
  
“C’m in,” he shouted to the knock on his door.  
  
Aretha came in and sat down on his bed.  “You’re still going with me today, right?  You promised.”  
  
Puck wanted to stay home and sleep.  The band had no gigs, and he was off his “real” job.  He wanted to whine and tell her that he just needed to be alone, but he couldn’t do it.  Mercedes had immediately offered her extra room after he’d gotten the gig and needed a place to stay - but her one condition was that he promise to volunteer with her at the shelter.  “Why are you - we - doing this again?”  He grumbled.  
  
She sighed, one of those put-upon sounds, before saying, “My mother’s best friend from college runs the shelter, and she always needs volunteers, especially today and tomorrow.”  
  
“Do we really have to go two days in a row?”  
  
“Today’s lunch, and tomorrow’s dinner,” she said, standing.  “Now go take a shower, because you smell like the inside of a year-old keg.”  
  
Grumbling, Puck took a quick shower, walking back to his room in a small towel.  Aretha always complained, but she also always looked.  He might not still be a jock, but he still looked good, his guns and abs still takin’ care of business.  
  
He downed three bowls of cereal; he hadn’t eaten dinner the night before and wasn’t figuring he’d have an appetite after feeding a bunch of homeless people.  Aretha came out in her fancy coat and matching hat as he was rinsing out his bowl and putting it into the dishwasher.  He grabbed his leather coat off the hook on the back of the door and had to deal with Aretha’s look to remind him of her determination to get him into, as she called it, “a real coat designed to keep a person warm”.  He really didn’t have a problem wearing another jacket, but he couldn’t afford much. The ones she suggested just looked too metrosexual for his tastes, and his jacket kept him warm enough.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, he figured, digging out his knitted cap from one of the jacket pockets.  
  
During the walk to the subway, Aretha kept up a constant monologue about school.  After the first thirty seconds, he tuned her out in favor of some serious people watching.  He’d figured out a while ago that he was bisexual; after all, who was he to deny everyone the possibility of having some of him?  It definitely made the people watching a lot more interesting, he thought, eyeballing a sister with a long weave as she strutted in front of him, her coat cinched tightly around her waist, emphasizing her nicely rounded curves and bubble butt.  
  
“Puck,” Mercedes chastised, bumping him with her shoulder as they began to walk down the stairs into the subway station.  “Can you get your eyes off her butt long enough to listen to me?”  
  
“I wasn’t listening to you before I saw her butt,” Puck corrected her, “but God put a butt like that on this earth to be appreciated.  So, you could say that I’m just doing God’s work.”  He cocked an eye at her, and she laughed.  
  
So did the woman with the butt as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder and gave him a saucy wink before disappearing into the crowd on the other side of the turnstile.  
  
“I was telling you about Aunt Momma,” Mercedes said, sliding her Metrocard into the machine and walking through the turnstile.  
  
“Seriously?  What’s with the name?”  Puck copied Mercedes, and they headed toward their train.  
  
Mercedes shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  I remember asking mom about it once a long time ago, but I can’t remember what she told me.”  
  
“I don’t have to call her that, do I?”  
  
“Mom just calls her Cass, but I think everyone else calls her Momma Cass.”  
  
“So what are we gonna be doing?  Just dishing out food?”  
  
“I guess so.  I’ve never visited her here.”  Mercedes shifted her purse.  She’d learned from experience to drape her strap over one shoulder and have her purse hang across her body rather than just off her shoulder.   They’d been up in New York for regionals, and before she’d known anything was up, she’d had her purse ripped off her.  
  
Puck and Mike and Sam had tried to run after the guy, but he’d just seemed to disappear.  The strange part was that her purse had shown up at her hotel, with everything intact, including her credit cards and cash, by the time they’d returned from their performance.  Because of the shift change, the concierge hadn’t been around when it had gotten dropped off, so he couldn’t even describe who had turned it in.  
  
“She always comes to visit us for a day or two in the summer.”  Mercedes’ eyes unfocused slightly as she revisited the past.  “I remember that she and her three boys lived down the street from us until Marcel - he’s the oldest - ran away.  That’s when everything changed.  Aunt Momma hired some private investigators who were pretty sure he was here, homeless, so she packed up the kids and moved up here to find him.”  
  
Their train arrived, and Puck followed Mercedes into the car, letting her take the one available seat while he stood above her and held on to the pole on the back of her seat.  
  
Interested despite himself, Puck asked, “So did she ever find him?”  
  
Mercedes shifted so she could look up at him comfortably.  “She _did_.  I don’t think he was doing very well, because I remember mom and dad calling her a lot, especially late at night.”  She smiled.  “But that was a long time ago, and he’s doing really well now.  He’s getting a degree in psychology and is looking into social work, I think.”  
  
“Why didn’t they just move back to Lima once they found him - I mean, I know the town sucks, but that’s where her family was, right?”  
  
“I think the whole experience changed them somehow, maybe made them more sensitive to the homeless.”  Mercedes nodded over to the corner of the train, where a kid sat, feet on the seat, forehead on his knees, fast asleep.  “No one sees them.”  
  
Puck looked around, realizing that no one was even looking in that kid’s direction.  He figured he probably wouldn’t have noticed either if Mercedes hadn’t pointed him out.  Looking back at the kid, he realized that he couldn’t even be sure if it were a boy or a girl underneath the big hat and large hoodie, the tight jeans and boots.  
  
They didn’t say much for the rest of the ride or the short walk to the homeless shelter.


	2. Home is Where You Hang Your Hat

Chapter 2: Home is Where You Hang Your Hat

Alex owned two jackets, his thin jean one and an oversized hoodie. Since he’d managed to obtain that awesome hat he’d given to Chase, he hadn’t bothered wearing the hoodie, and now he deeply regretted it. His scalp alternated between feeling numb and scraped raw; he’d lost feeling in his ears a while ago, and he knew from experience that the thaw once he’d gotten someplace warm was going to be painful. The problem was, he was supposed to meet the man at 10:30, but he didn’t have a watch. He knew it must be close, but he hated asking strangers for the time. Some looked at him like they’d accidentally stepped on him and gotten his stink on their shoes, but those he could understand. As hard as he tried, he wasn’t always able to find a place to clean himself up in the mornings, so he looked just like he was - homeless and pathetic. If he were one of those people leaving their warm homes, latte and muffin in their hands, walking to work, he probably wouldn’t want someone like him getting even remotely close. The worst, though, were the ones who looked straight through him, like there wasn’t enough of him to be acknowledged. Sometimes he’d have gone days without talking to anyone, and he’d wonder if somehow he had actually begun to fade away. So he kept his interactions with others to a minimum and had come up with different ways to figure out the time. Sometimes he’d snatch a forgotten receipt from an ATM or one thrown away from a grocery store. He found that a lot of impossible tasks were actually manageable with some creativity mixed with a dash of determination.

Since he knew he was close to the meeting time, he just closed his eyes and forced his body to relax, bringing down the shivers to a more manageable level. He pulled his bag closer to his chest, knowing it wouldn’t make him warmer, but the comfort of having it so close to him was better than nothing. Opening his eyes, he saw the man exit his car and jog up to him. Almost bald, the guy huddled in his coat, blowing on his hands to keep them warm. Fighting back an unexpected surge of tears, Alex realized that the man reminded him of his dad, and he had to force his mind to remain in the present.

“You the kid?” The man asked.

Alex nodded.

Withdrawing a set of keys from his pocket, the man unlocked the heavy metal door and preceded Alex inside, where it felt as cold as it had been outside.

“This place is old and doesn’t much in the way of amenities, but you’ll get your own room, and there’s a communal bathroom on each floor. Each of the bathrooms have their own keys, so you’ll only be able to get into the bathroom on your floor, and you won’t be able to get in at all if you lose it.” He eyeballed Alex, who nodded.

Alex could feel the man staring at him, as if trying to decide whether the whole thing was worth it, and Alex felt himself holding his breath.

“Your room is on the fifth floor,” the man said, starting for the stairs, turning before Alex quietly exhaled and started breathing again.

They made the climb in silence, the man slightly panting by the time they’d arrived. Alex’s legs were burning, but he pushed through the pain, knowing that at the end of it was something he’d thought he’d never have again.

Pulling out another key chain from his pocket, the man unlocked the three locks on the door and stepped into the room.

Alex paused for a moment, taking a big breath, before he followed the man inside.  
The room had one piece of furniture, a cot, that ran along the length of the wall on the right. A barred window stood on the far wall, and the left wall contained a sink and a small counter with an outlet between the two. The room was small enough that the man and Alex could stand with their arms out and touch both ends of the peeling white painted walls, but it looked like a miracle to Alex.

“You have the money?”

Alex nodded, turning his back to the man so he could reach into his pants and pull the pantyhose up from where his money hung a little past his knee. Once he’d pulled it up, he had to undo the knot around his waist and then shove his hand down its length until he reached the small wad of bills. Taking it out, he counted it carefully and turned back to the man, who had walked over to the window and stood peering outside from between two of the bars.

“Here,” Alex said, clearing his voice after the word came out hoarse and scratchy.

The man took the money and counted it. “As we discussed on the phone, the rent is due the last day of the month for the next month. If you don’t have it, you’re out. I don’t do credit or extensions.”

Alex nodded, his eyes darting around the room.

“I reserve the right to come into your room at any time to make sure that you haven’t destroyed it. If I find that you’ve, say, pulled out the sink or have a whole family living in here, you’re out. If I find out you’re using this place for illegal purposes, I’ll call the cops myself.”

Alex nodded, his heart pounding so hard that it felt like he could look down and see it trying to burst through his chest.

“I’ve told you all about the bathroom,” the man mused, then huffed out some air. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

“No, sir,” Alex said, the heartbeat rising into his throat. He clutched the sides of his bag and waited.

“Here,” the man said, holding out the keychain. “One key is to the door, one is to the bathroom.”

Alex took the keys, hoping the man didn’t notice the way his hands shook.

“Momma Cass said I could trust you. Don’t let us both down.”

Alex nodded again, almost giggling from nerves when he pictured himself as one of those bobbleheads.

The man sighed again and turned, leaving the room, the door clicking behind him.  
Clutching the keys to the bag against his chest, Alex slowly turned into a circle, thinking, _This is mine. This is all mine!_ He quickly walked to the door and locked the three locks and then sank in the middle of the room, pressing his hands against his eyes as he tried to keep himself from losing control.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Winding their way through the various shopping carts and homeless people huddled outside the front door, Puck and Mercedes headed toward the back of the building. Mercedes knocked on the door, which was opened a few seconds later by the black version of the Incredible Hulk.

“Mercedes? Is that you, girl?” The man said, his deep voice forcing Puck to work hard not to back up a few steps.

“Marcel?”

The man laughed and picked up Mercedes, hugging her as her feet dangled far from the ground. “Momma told me you were living here now. I figured we’d never see you, though.”

“My mom would come up here and kick my tail personally if I didn’t come help,” Mercedes said as she was lowered back down to the ground. “I also brought a friend, my roommate Pu-Noah,” she said, turning to give Puck a questioning look.

“Puhnoah?” Marcel asked.

Puck shrugged. “They called me Puck in Lima, but the name’s Noah.”

“What do you prefer?”

“Noah’s fine,” Puck said. He didn’t really care, but he supposed his real name reflected how he had changed, grown up a bit, since high school.

The man nodded and held out his hand. “I’m Marcel.”

Puck watched his hand disappear inside of Marcel’s and said, “Dude, you’re like a mountain. How tall are you?”

The man laughed. “I’m six-six, but mom says that I’m built like a brick shithouse, so I might seem a little taller.” He moved backwards. “Come on in; momma’s gonna start yelling at me for letting out the heat in a moment.”

Just then they heard a voice, “Boy! We don’t have enough money to spend it on heat that’s just going to fly out of the room!”

Puck followed Mercedes into a huge kitchen, filled with people and activity and noise. Walking toward them was a tall, very thin black woman.

“Mercedes! You made it!” The woman enveloped her in one of those full-body hugs that seemed to meld the two bodies together.

After a few seconds, Mercedes pulled away and gestured toward Puck. “This is my friend, Noah.”

“The new roommate, one who’s not afraid to come to Queens and help us out,” the woman said.

“Ma’am,” Puck said, holding out his hand.

The woman neatly sidestepped it and gathered him into a hug. She might have been thin, but she was strong and warm and smelled of comfort and spices, and Puck couldn’t help but hug her back just as tightly for a few seconds. “Call me Momma Cass,” she said, pulling back and looking him up and down. “You are a cutie,” she muttered, eyeballing Mercedes.

“Oh, no!” Mercedes protested. “We know way too much about each other for that.”

“Besides,” Puck couldn’t help saying, “we tried that in high school, and she dumped me.”

“Really?” Momma Cass arched an eyebrow at Mercedes, who was glaring at Puck, who was grinning back at her.

They were interrupted by the sound of crashing pans, and Momma Cass turned around to yell at someone in the crowd of people mulling around the kitchen. She turned back to them. “Sorry about that. Thanksgiving and Christmas are our busiest holidays of the year. Marcel will show you where you can put your stuff, and then he’ll get you started.”

“Tables?” Marcel asked.

She nodded. “These two would probably end up burned alive back here, the way things are going.” She said it with a smile, but Puck looked at the craziness behind her and wasn’t really sure she was joking.

They followed Marcel down a hallway and up some stairs. He stopped at the top and pulled out some keys attached to the belt loop of his jeans, using three different keys to unlock the three locks on the door. Opening it, he used his arm to gesture for them to precede him.

Puck followed Mercedes into a large loft, filled with the feeling of space, something that he realized he didn’t feel often in a city where space was at a premium.

“This used to be a warehouse,” Marcel explained, stepping past them and moving toward a little office in the far corner. “Mom converted the bottom floor into a homeless shelter, with the kitchen and dining room, and there’s a room that can hold up to 40 cots and a place for teens to hang out. Up here is where we live.” He still held the keys in his hand and used a key to unlock a file cabinet and open the top drawer. “You can put your purse and jackets in here.”

As they took off their jackets, and Mercedes tossed her purse in the cabinet, she asked, “Do you really need our help? It looks like you have a lot of people down there already.”

“We have people doing this for community service, and some of them are just fine. Others are just barely doing the minimum, and we have to keep an eye on them to make sure they’re not trying to steal the silver wear or trying to sneak out to score. Most of them have no idea what they’re doing in the kitchen, and half of them have to be told to wash their hands after they go to the bathroom.” He smiled, locking the file cabinet. “We need all the help we can get.”

“We’re here for whatever you need,” Mercedes said, turning for the door, and Puck watched Marcel’s eyes trace her body, returning for an encore performance of her booty as she sashayed to the door.

_Interesting,_ Puck thought with a grin as he followed the mountain.

The next hour Puck and Mercedes did everything from rolling plastic over the long tables and taping them down at the ends to setting places and pulling down chairs. By the time they were finished, they’d both worked up a good sheen. They leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room and surveyed their handiwork.

“Not bad, guys,” Momma Cass said, leaning on the counter kitchen-side.

“What’s next?” Mercedes asked.

“Come on back and get your food,” she said. “Everyone’s going to eat, and then we’ll open up the doors and serve all the others.”

“How come we get to eat first?” Mercedes asked. “What if we run out of food?”

“We won’t run out of food,” Momma Cass assured her, walking over to the door and opening it so they could walk into the kitchen. They fell into line behind some of the kitchen workers, Mercedes and Puck mimicking the others as they moved down the line, grabbing cutlery and dishes and helping themselves to the food lined up along the counters. “I’ve learned from experience that a hungry volunteer has less patience with our guests than one who has already eaten.” She tossed a grin in their direction. “You’re going to meet some of the sweetest, and some of the most obstinate people. Some are grateful that we’re here to help, while others resent us for it. Some of these people have lost everything; all they have left is their pride, and having to come here is very difficult for them. It’s almost like it’s reinforcing that they can’t take care of themselves, of their families, and that doesn’t always make them very friendly. But a volunteer with a full belly is going to be more open to their plight than one who has just spent hours preparing all this food for someone who’s standing in front of them glaring at them.” She nodded toward Marcel, who’d had to duck slightly as he walked into the room. “He taught me that.”

Marcel jerked his head at his mother, who nodded. “Excuse me. Go ahead and help yourself.” She headed toward Marcel and disappeared with him back into another room.

Mercedes shrugged at Puck, and they walked down the line, piling food on their plates. Puck felt his stomach growling.

“They might not be experts, but I have to say that everything looks and smells really good,” Mercedes whispered to Puck.

“Or we’re just starving,” Puck said, sharing a smile with her as she rolled her eyes.

They walked into the dining room, and Puck had a sensation of déjà vu, as he and Mercedes looked for a place to sit.

“Feels like back at McKinley, doesn’t it?” Mercedes whispered to him.

“Sure does,” Puck said confidently. “I sit wherever I damn well want to sit.” He knew what Mercedes meant, and he felt that awkwardness too, but one thing he’d learned was that people took their cues from you. If you acted all unsure and scared, they would eat you alive. So he strutted ahead of Mercedes and sat down in the middle of a row, a few chairs down from a few of the people eating. It was close enough for them to talk to any of the other volunteers if they wanted, but it was far enough for everyone to know that Puck wasn’t actively looking for more friends. He felt Mercedes follow him, and she put down her tray and sat across from him.

“Let us pray,” Marcel said from the front.

Puck shot a look at Mercedes, who shrugged, and they lowered their heads.

Puck glanced out of the corner of his eyes and noticed that everyone had bowed their heads. He wasn’t surprised. A mountain like Marcel said it was time to pray, it was time to pray. He figured even an atheist like Hummel would pretend.

A pang of loss shot through his body. He didn’t think of Hummel often, but every once in a while, a thought would flicker through his mind, and he’d get that feeling - he wasn’t quite sure what it was, maybe a mixture of anger and fear and sadness and loss, or whatever. He wasn’t one to sit there and think about his feelings, but there was something so… tragic about what had happened to Hummel. He had been his usual sarcastic, bitchy self until his father’d had that heart attack and died, leaving him at the mercy of that distant relative of his mother’s. And then what happened afterward, and not knowing if he were still alive out there somewhere, it had to do something to a person. It’s not as though they had been friends, but they’d been teammates and in Glee together, and it had just felt so wrong when suddenly he wasn’t there anymore, wasn’t anywhere anymore.

Suddenly he realized that something had changed, and he looked up to find that everyone had finished praying, and Mercedes was looking at him curiously. “Almost fell asleep,” he lied smoothly. “Someone got me up at the butt crack of dawn so she could vacuum the walls.”

Mercedes narrowed her eyes in a mock glare. “It was eleven. If you hadn’t stayed out late whoring somewhere, you would have gotten enough rest.”

“It’s only whoring if you get paid for it,” Puck shot back.

“I want to officially welcome all of the volunteers and thank you for all of the help you’ve done and are going to continue to do this afternoon,” Momma Cass said, stepping beside Marcel.

Now that he had time to ponder on it, Puck could totally see the family resemblance. Marcel was much larger than Momma Cass, but the woman had to be close to six foot tall herself. She was extremely thin, but Puck knew from her hug that she had some serious muscles underneath that green turtleneck. She had a nice enough rack, he thought idly, but it wasn’t bounteous like Aretha’s. The faded jeans weren’t extremely tight, but they showed that she was just as thin on the bottom as she was on the top, although Puck had noticed that she had a rather nice little bit of action going on in her trunk for such a thin person.

Both mother and son had the same dark skin, the same mouth, the exact same smile. They both also had this presence that gave off the sense that they knew their place in the world and that they would make things better - as long as you didn’t piss them off.

“You can start eating,” Momma Cass said, waving an arm. “This is just an informal thank you, since it’s probably the only time I’m going to have you all together. For those of you who have never been here before, let me just go through how the rest of the evening’s going to proceed. We’re going to put out a full plate of food, a cup of milk, and a cup of water at every seat, and when we are ready, we’ll open the door for our guests, who will come in from there.” She pointed to the far door. “They will fill up these seats first and move down each table until all of the seats are full. Once they’ve finished eating, they’ll walk up to the counter here for a small plate to take with them.” She patted the counter. “I’m going to have Mercedes and Puck - wave guys - here to hand them out.”

Mercedes smiled shyly and waved. Puck just gave a whassup jerk of his head. He’d been eyeballing the crowd as Momma Cass gave her little speech, and he wasn’t real impressed with the pickings. He hadn’t expected to find some boobalicious barbie doll or buffed-out stud at a shelter in Queens; he figured those types probably volunteered somewhere in Manhattan. But he’d never been one to assume, so he’d looked around. Resolved to going home alone tonight - Aretha didn’t count when he thought along these lines - Puck didn’t really worry about trying to impress anyone.

“One of my other sons, Marcus, will be out there making sure that all of their protective devices remain outside. They all know that this is a facility where weapons aren’t allowed, so those who can, try to keep them elsewhere. Unfortunately, many need to protect themselves, so Marcel will hold on to their protective devices until they leave the building. Marcus and my other son Malachi are running late, but they should be here any time. Malachi will be helping out anywhere he’s needed.

“So eat up, and we’ll get started putting out the food in about ten minutes.”

Puck had already finished and saw that Mercedes had done the same. “I’ll grab the plates if you grab the cups,” he said, and she nodded at him.

They made their way to the kitchen, and Puck heard laughter coming from the other large room. “It sounds like the party’s already started,” Puck said, his face turned back to Mercedes as he walked through the doorway into the kitchen, so he was completely unprepared when he heard a voice he recognized, one he thought he’d never hear again.


	3. Same As It Never Was

Chapter 3: Same As It Never Was

 

After about twenty minutes of just sitting in the middle of his room - his room! - Alex smiled, a crack in his chapped lips tearing a bit. He barely felt it as he looked at the naked cot, making mental notes. He needed at least two blankets, one to serve as a sheet of sorts and one to put over his body. He could use his sweatshirt for a pillow, and he still had his toiletries the Salvation Army had given him in his bag. He had a small, thin piece of material he used as a washcloth, but he thought maybe he could find a real washcloth in the donation pile at the shelter. He could also maybe look for a towel.

Just the thought that he could sleep tonight stretched out on a bed almost made him laugh out loud, and he looked down at the keys in his hand. He’d clutched them so tightly that they had made small imprints on his palms, and part of him wished he could press so tightly that they’d forever become a part of him.

Then he remembered that he had somewhere else to be, and he was probably already extremely late. Because he’d used up all of the money he had, he was going to have to jump the turnstile to get into the train station, so he had to walk to one that had less police presence and no working cameras.

He stood and looked around his room. He wanted to leave something behind, to mark that this place was now his, but he couldn’t stop the worry that he had kept with him so long, the one that told him that anything he left wasn’t going to be there when he got back. He dug into his bag and pulled out his thin washcloth. He placed it gently on the counter by the sink and backed away slowly, committing the sight to memory before unlocking the door, exiting the apartment, and relocking the door from the outside.

It took him longer than he’d hoped to get to the train station he needed, but fortunately, the cops weren’t around, and he slipped into the station with a minimum of fuss. It was good that he hadn’t had to go anywhere else, because his head was aching again, his face and ears burning from the cold. He was worried about getting sick, but he reminded himself about the hooded sweatshirt he had waiting for him at the shelter.

He tried to act like he belonged as he clutched his bag and kept his eyes downcast, and soon he was at his stop and back out into the cold.

He bypassed the front where the mass of people would have stomped on him had he tried to make his way to the door and headed for the back, where he knocked until Marcel came to the door.

“You’re late,” he said. “Where’s your hat?”

“It’s gone,” Alex said, stepping inside.

Marcel placed a big hand close to Alex’s chest, knowing not to touch him. “You know the rules.”

Alex backed up a bit, feeling crowded even though he knew Marcel wasn’t going to do anything to him. He let go of his bag long enough to pull his makeshift shiv from inside his right sleeve and placed it carefully in his bag. He then reached inside his jeans to a small pocket he’d fashioned and pulled out the razor blade. Bending down, he lifted the right pants leg and carefully pulled out his large piece of glass. He put those with the shiv and exhaled a moment before handing Marcel his bag, which contained pretty much everything that held importance in his life.

Marcel had been there himself, and Alex knew he understood. He took the bag, asking, “That all?”

Alex nodded, his eyes taking in the kitchen. “Everything ready?”

“Yes.” Marcel put Alex’s bag in a box on the top shelf, one that could only be reached by a ladder or one of Momma Cass’ sons.

“You do the thing?”

For a second, Alex was confused. Then he remembered the conversation they’d had the day before about Chase. “I saw him, and he said he might come.”

“Where’d you find him?”

“Washington Square Park,” Alex said reluctantly, knowing that Marcel would understand the full implications of the location. He fidgeted a little, always having to fight the feeling of wrongness when he didn’t have his bag with him.

Marcel sighed and opened his mouth, but he was interrupted.

“You’re here!” Momma Cass said. “Where’s your hat?” She walked up to Alex, clasping her hands together.

She always did that when she saw him. The first time they’d met, she’d drawn him into this huge, tight hug, and he hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t been touched like that since his dad - in so long. He’d freaked, writhing and crying and embarrassing himself so much that she’d never tried touching him again, and they’d never mentioned it. There’d been times since then when he’d ached to have her to touch him, even just a hand on his shoulder, but he’d already ruined it, and he knew he didn’t deserve it anyway. So he just shoved the thought deep inside like he always did and tried to make it up to her by helping any way he could.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Did you do it?”

He nodded, his eyes on her chin. He dug a hand into his pocket and came out with the keys.

“That’s wonderful!” She gushed, and he felt pinpricks on the back of his eyes. He hadn’t been so emotional in a long time, and it was exhausting him. “Remind me to give you your stuff before you leave tonight, and I’m sure we can find a few things from the donation bin you can use too. For now, though, come eat. You have a few minutes before we open the door.” She handed him a plate. “Tell me about the place.”

Shoving the keys deep inside his pocket with his free hand, he said, “it has a sink and a bed.” He knew it wasn’t much, but it was still everything.

“It’s clean?”

“Yes,” Alex said, although he couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been filthy, but Alex hadn’t really been interested in whether there had been dust bunnies underneath the bed or spiders in the sink. “There are three locks on the outside and four on the inside, and the window has bars.” He heard the excitement in his voice and wondered at the foreign sound of it.

He was mulling over the newness of everything and wasn’t prepared when he turned around to run straight into his past.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck barely had a moment to process the voice when he ran into a small body that seemed to bounce off him. He looked into the eyes, those eyes, and couldn’t speak.  
Mercedes was losing one of the forks in her left hand, and she was trying to edge it back up into her grasp with the edge of one of the cups in her right hand, so she wasn’t prepared when Puck stopped short. “Don’t stop like that!” She said, shifting to catch his eye. She saw him staring, transfixed, and automatically followed his gaze, everything falling from her hands at what she saw.

Having spent the better part of two years suppressing any and all memories of what Chase had always called “the previous life”, Alex couldn’t handle having it thrust upon him in one instant. He exhaled sharply and did something he’d learned never to do on the streets: he looked someone straight in the eyes - and he saw the measuring and knew he’d been found wanting.

The eyes were dimmer, less sparkling and snapping than he remembered, the dark circles underneath prominent, but they were still that blue green that seemed to look right deep inside him. The cheeks were sunken, but it was still Kurt. Kurt fucking Hummel standing right in front of him!

She tried to take it all in, the skin, once pampered, now looked red and chafed. His lips were chapped and cracked, one corner looked like it had been bleeding recently. His hair! The beautiful locks he meticulously brushed back so often were now just tufts drifting around his pale head. He looked so much like her boy yet so unlike him that she wanted to hug him yet feared touching him.

A smack on his back forced air into his lungs, but the loud rasp that accompanied it burned his throat. His hands went to grab his bag, his fingers scrabbling vainly against the rough fabric of his jacket. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t think, everyone was getting closer, and he couldn’t think. He heard another gasp, felt that fire in his throat, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing open the door, only to find a dark wall in front of him. Using all his strength, he pushed through, that second door finally giving way, and then he’s free, and it’s him in the night, in the cold. He’s running, and it’s getting difficult to see, the sweat blurring his vision, until his legs stop working, his throat screaming, his lungs aching, burning with the cold.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Mercedes watched as Marcel smacked Kurt’s back, making him shudder and suddenly inhale, gasping. She knew her mouth was hanging open, but she had no words. There were no words…

She’d held out hope that he was okay for a few months after she’d gotten the postcard of something called the Monongahela Incline in Pittsburgh, with just four words written in Kurt’s handwriting: “Don’t worry; I’m fine.” She’d waited for him to contact her again, even after his Uncle had blown into town threatening everyone, saying that Kurt had run away and that he knew they’d helped. But she’d never heard from Kurt again, and while she’d hoped he was somewhere safe and happy, a part of her knew that the odds were against it. Sure, Kurt was übersmart, but how much of a chance did a sixteen year-old who had barely stepped foot out of Lima, OH and whose only parent had just died have out in the world? Plus, he had to hide from his mother’s brother, a man Kurt had never spoken to in his life and who just looked angry each of the three times Mercedes had seen him.

As time went by, she tried not to think about her best friend maybe starving somewhere, maybe dead. She couldn’t watch those reality shows that dealt with human trafficking and teenage prostitution, the homeless, unidentified male bodies found. She avoided the news, choosing to get her daily information from syndicated entertainment news programs.

She realized now that she had come face to face with her best friend that a small part of her had thought he was dead.

Now she knew he was alive, and suddenly a burst of hope started deep in her belly and rose through her until it poured out of her in an excited peal of laughter as she grabbed Puck’s arm. “Puck! He’s alive! My boy’s alive!”

And then the reality hit her, his wasted condition, the restrained look in his eyes, the poor skin condition and lack of fashion. He might look like her boy, but how much of him still remained?

She looked at Puck, who still hadn’t moved. “Puck?”

Slowly, his head turned toward her. “It wasn’t just me, right?” He whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “That was Hummel, right? You saw him too?”

“I did!”

She pulled at his arm, and suddenly they were hugging each other so tightly that she could barely breathe, but it still wasn’t close enough for her.

After a moment, she felt Puck’s arms loosen around her, and she forced herself to let go. She looked up at his face and saw him focused beyond her. Turning, she saw that Momma Cass stood there, Marcel beside her. She was saying something, but Mercedes had completely missed it.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Momma, I totally missed what you just said.”

The older woman smiled at Mercedes. “I can imagine.” She turned to her eldest. “Marcel, take them upstairs after your brothers arrive, and I’ll come up after I get things started here.”

“We’re here, mom,” another tall, dark man said, walking up and giving Momma Cass a hug.

“What’s going on with Alex?” Another guy, just as large, took his turn hugging Momma Cass. “He pushed past us like he’d had some sort of attack.”

“I wish you’d held him here,” she sighed.

One of the men snorted. “We were here when you tried to hug him that one time; we know how he doesn’t like to be touched.”

“I know,” she said, turning back to Mercedes and Puck. “Mercedes, do you remember my other two sons, Marcus and Malachi? Boys, this is Mercedes, Jemma’s girl from Lima, and her friend Noah. Evidently, they know Alex.”

Mercedes frowned. “Who’s Alex?”

“It’s the name your friend goes by now,” Marcel said, taking her arm with one hand and Puck’s with another. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Taking a step, Mercedes stepped on a fork and remembered the dishes she’d dropped. “I need to clean up…”

“We’ll take care of it,” Aunt Momma told her. “Just go on upstairs with Marcel.”

Mercedes nodded, feeling another laugh bubbling in her chest. She had to lean forward to see around Marcel, but she grinned at Puck, who smiled back at her, for once all his normal reserve gone.

“Marcel, can I get my phone?” She turned to Puck, excited. “I have to call everyone - Finn, Rachel, everyone!”

“Before you do that, let’s have a talk,” Marcel said, seating them on one of the sofas in the living area and returning quickly with four bottles of water, handing one to each of them and opening one for himself, placing the extra one on the floor by his feet. “Okay,” he said, sighing as he sat in a chair across from them. “Alex is your friend.”

“His name is Kurt,” Mercedes corrected him. “Kurt Hummel.”

“That was his old name,” Marcel said.

“What does that mean?” Puck asked.

“Maybe we should wait until mom gets here,” Marcel muttered, but Mercedes felt she had waited enough.

“Just explain to us what that means,” she said.

Sighing again, Marcel looked up at the ceiling for a moment, absently scratching his chin, before he returned his gaze to hers. “You know I was homeless for a few years, right?”

Mercedes nodded, turning to Puck and watching him nod as well.

“So I know a few things from experience. Because most of us are running from something or someone, and we don’t want to be found, we tend to adopt a fake name.”

“What was yours?” Mercedes asked curiously.

“Victor,” he said, smiling briefly. “How long has Al- your friend been missing?”

“About two years,” Puck offered.

“So for about two years, he’s been Alex, and he’s been living on the streets. He’s going to have seen a lot of stuff, had to do a lot of stuff to survive.”

Mercedes could tell by his intense stare that he was trying to impart something important, more than what he was saying. She considered herself a fairly intelligent person, but she just wasn’t getting it. She turned to Puck, who seemed to have the same expression she felt was probably reflected on her face as well.

“Just tell us what you’re trying to say,” Puck said. “We can handle it.”

“What I’m saying is that your friend, as you knew him, is gone. Kurt Hu… whatever has been replaced by Alex.”

“Hummel,” Mercedes and Puck said simultaneously, sharing a smile.

“Hummel,” Marcel repeated.

“I know you’re trying to tell us something, but I think you’re just going to have to say it, because I don’t think either of us are getting it.”

“What he’s saying, Mercedes,” Aunt Momma said from behind them, “is that your friend, the way you knew him, is gone, and you need to prepare yourself that he might be gone forever.”

“What do you mean, the way we knew him?”

“In order to survive out there, you kind of have to…” Marcel paused, obviously thinking of how to explain it. “Okay. Imagine you’re an animal who’s been living in the zoo all of your life. Your food’s catered, you don’t have to worry about inclement weather, animal attacks don’t even exist in your world. Suddenly you’re thrust into the jungle, alone, where you have to figure out how to survive. You have to forget everything you’ve known - everything - because nothing you’ve been taught before has prepared you for this. Everything around you is a potential danger, and the only person you can rely on is yourself. That kind of thing changes a person.”

“Sure,” Mercedes said, trying not to roll her eyes. Of course Kurt had had a tough time of it, and of course that would have changed him. “But we’ve found him now. He can stay with us, right?” She turned to Puck, who nodded slightly but looked a little thoughtful. “Right, Puck?”

“Sure,” Puck agreed slowly, “but I think what Marcel’s trying to tell us is that it’s not going to be that easy.”

“We’ll give him a place to stay, feed him, and we’ll be there to support him,” Mercedes said.

Marcel was shaking his head. He scooted forward in his chair, reaching out to take Mercedes’ hands in his. “What if he doesn’t want to go with you?”

Mercedes had to blink. “You saw him. He’s wasted away to nothing, and you said yourself that he’s homeless. Why wouldn’t he come stay with us?”

Marcel turned to his mother, and Mercedes watched them have some sort of conversation with their eyes. Finally, Momma Cass said, “You can’t explain it to her, Marcel, just like they couldn’t explain it to me.”

Marcel nodded, turning back to Mercedes. “Know that I’m here, if you have questions are just need to talk.” He looked at Puck. “I’m here for both of you.”

“We’re here for you,” Momma Cass corrected, a hand on Marcel’s forearm.

Mercedes felt herself getting a little angry at their placating tones, like she was some innocent who didn’t understand the situation. She totally did. Her boy had been living on the streets for nearly two years, alone and scared, and it was going to take time and probably lots of patience to help him work through that, but he had her now, so eventually he’d be the best friend she remembered, just more experienced about life. Pulling her hands from Marcel’s she said, “I don’t know why you don’t think I understand what you’re saying. He’s messed up, just like anyone would be who’s gone through what he has, but with his friends around him, he’ll work it out. He’s tough.”

“Sometimes tough doesn’t cut it,” Marcel said.

“But yet here you are, looking healthy and happy,” Mercedes said, not able to control the snarky edge to her voice. “Kurt’s just as special as you are.”

“I’m not saying he’s not,” Marcel said, sitting back in his chair and grabbing his water. “But you don’t know how difficult, how long, how much work it took for me to get to where I am. And you have no idea how many issues I’m still dealing with. I still go see my shrink twice a week.”

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck knew he hadn’t seen much more of the seedier life than Mercedes had, but he thought he was getting a better idea of what they were trying to say. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been as close to Hummel, so he didn’t have so much emotion to cloud his vision.

Now that he’d had time to think back on it, to reflect - and yes, he did a lot more of that since he’d graduated - he realized that nowhere in Kurt’s expression had he seen any sort of relief or happiness at seeing them. He’d seen shock, of course, but he was pretty sure he’d seen fear there as well. It wasn’t a look he was used to seeing in Hummel’s eyes, at least not without being tempered with a haughty disdain and accompanied by that I’m-better-than-you-could-ever-hope-to-be chin lift.

He could imagine someone as pretty as Kurt, stepping off of the bus at Penn Station. In fact, he’d had a kid on his bus, someone probably about sixteen or so, who’d looked so lost as they’d stepped down the stairs, and he could remember wondering absently what would happen if no one came to pick him up. He’d heard the stories, ones that felt more like urban legends, about pimps and drug dealers hovering around the bus and train stations, waiting to descend upon the runaways who swarmed to the city, but he hadn’t really believed it. Now that he’d been living here for a short time, though, he could see it happening. He just hoped that it hadn’t happened to Hummel.

“How well do you know him?” Puck asked, cutting off Mercedes’ rant. “How’s he doing?”

Momma Cass sat beside her son, taking the bottle of water on the floor and twisting open the cap. “He’s doing okay, actually, for being a runaway.”

“He’s doing better than I was,” Marcel added while his mother drank. “He’s not hooked on drugs.”

“He’s not selling his body,” Momma Cass added, “and he just got his own room at a halfway house. He has a job of sorts.” She smiled faintly and looked at her son, who shook his head wryly.

“What are we missing?” Mercedes asked.

“Just a private joke,” Momma Cass said, looking back at them. “Let me just say, having been where you are now, that finding him is the easy part. Now you have to get to know him all over again, forget what you used to know about him and get to know him the way he is now. The kid you used to know is completely different, and the way you can lose him again is to try to shoehorn him back into your idea of who he should be.”

“What do we do then?” Puck asked, trying very hard to understand and remember everything she was telling them.

“Take your cues from him,” Marcel said. “Let him guide you.”

Puck looked over at Mercedes, recognizing the stubborn set of her chin, and he stifled a sigh. He could already picture himself between the two of them, trying to get Mercedes to stop forcing Kurt into his old role and trying to keep Kurt from running.  
Even so, he couldn’t help but be excited about seeing Hummel again.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Alex awoke, shivering, at the end of an alley, his body curled up against the wall. It wasn’t the ideal location; in fact, it was probably one of the most dangerous situations to be in, because he would be without an escape route should anyone try to mess with him. Fortunately, it was too cold for many dangerous types to be out, and he slightly relaxed his guard as he stood, wincing as his shivering body protested having been on the ground for so long.

Automatically, he reached for his makeshift weapons and his bag, belatedly remembering that all of his worldly possessions were locked at the shelter. He felt a chill sweeping over his body, one totally different than the cold tremors. He’d never been this long without his bag - he knew that it was someplace safe, but what if something happened? What if the shelter caught on fire? What if the shelf broke, and his stuff fell on the floor, to be snatched up by anyone passing by the entrance? He felt tears prick at his eyes, and he pressed his palms against them as he tried to calm himself. There was nothing he could do about it now, and one thing he’d learned early on was not to waste energy on things he couldn’t change.

And then he remembered that he hadn’t given up everything at the shelter. Digging in his pocket, he fished out his two keys, still amazed that he had his own room waiting for him right at that very minute. Shoving the keys back into his pocket, he carefully made his way out of the alley and took a moment to get his bearings.

Once again, he snuck into a subway station and managed to get to the place - his place! - fairly quickly. He used his key to get into the building, slowly climbing the stairs to his room. He figured he should probably go to the restroom first, and he took out the bathroom key, sliding it into the lock.

“It’s occupied,” a deep, male voice said loudly.

Shrugging, Alex turned to his room. He figured he could always pee in the sink if he became desperate in the middle of the night. After all, he’d peed in worse - and less private - places. Slowly unlocking the door, he sighed quietly at the loud click it made. He took his time turning the door knob, picturing the room the way he’d left it, remembering that feeling of it being all his, before he entered and turned on the light.

He had to smile as he looked around. He’d known that everything was supposed to be the way he’d left it, and logically it made sense. But he’d learned for so long not to take things for granted, and all that was his could be taken away before he’d taken a breath. Absently, he brushed his fingers over the washcloth he’d left there, that was exactly where he’d put it earlier. He tried to think to a future where he’d once again take for granted small things like this, and he just couldn’t picture it. But then again, how long had it been since he’d really thought of any future past the next few days? He supposed he must have, since it had taken him quite a while to save up enough for his room, but he hadn’t really thought that it would actually happen, that there would come a time when it would really come true.

But here he was, in his room, with his washcloth and his keys. Absently, he grasped for his bag against his chest and stared at his bed. It didn’t feel right to sleep on it, not without a sheet or a towel or something to lay on top of it, so he turned out the light and curled up on the floor, reveling in the tingling he felt throughout his head as it warmed.


	4. A Butting Of the Minds

Chapter 4: A Butting Of the Minds

Awakening, Mercedes felt that confusion she always got when she was in a new place, and it took her a few seconds to remember that she and Puck had spent the night in Aunt Momma’s apartment above the shelter. She turned her head and found that the older woman was already gone, and she sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

She started to giggle, remembering that the day before she’d regained her best friend. Spreading her arms wide, she rolled around the bed, trying to muffle her happiness with a pillow she shoved over her face.

The day before, they’d returned downstairs to help out, but she only vaguely recalled smiling dumbly at the people as she prepared plates for them and handed the plates to Puck for wrapping. The looks she’d gotten from both the homeless and the volunteers might have made her slightly self conscious if Puck hadn’t been almost as giddy as she’d been. They’d grinned at each other for the entire evening.

She hopped out of bed, grabbing the toiletries and towel Aunt Momma had given her the night before, and headed toward the bathroom.

“Mornin’,” a scratchy voice said from the corner, nearly making her scream. 

Turning her head, her stuff clenched against her chest, she whispered, “Puck! Don’t scare me like that!”

“Like what? I was just sitting here.” Puck had taken the couch the night before. Seated, with his legs stretched out on the sofa, the blanket was pooled around his hips. He was wearing his glasses, which he’d confessed to her that he thought made him look stupid. She’d refrained from telling him that they actually made him even sexier, because the last thing anyone needed was for Puck to feel even better about himself than he already did.

“What’re you reading?” She whispered, moving closer. Seeing Puck read voluntarily still surprised her. She figured she’d eventually get used to it, since he was working at a bookstore, but at the moment, she still found it a strange sight.

Puck slid his legs off the couch in a silent invitation, and Mercedes took him up on it, depositing her stuff on the coffee table and sliding underneath the blanket as well. “It’s this book about New York’s homeless teens. It gives all sorts of facts and figures and stuff.”

“Anything that’ll help us with Kurt?”

Puck lifted a shoulder. “I’m not sure. I’m only about fifteen pages into it. Each chapter is a separate first-hand account.” He shook his head. “This first one is really rough.”

“We’ll get Kurt back to our place, and he won’t have to deal with this stuff anymore,” Mercedes declared.

Puck turned to her. “Why do you keep saying that? What if he doesn’t want to go with us?”

“Well, why do _you_ keep saying that? Who wouldn’t take a roof over his head with friends and food?”

“He’s been living like this for a long time. You think that doesn’t change a person? Did you see the look in his eyes? Behind the shock he looked ashamed and embarrassed. I don’t know what he’s had to do to survive, but do you think he’s just going to be able to wash it away with a hot shower? What about his hair? The Kurt we knew would’ve rather died than to have it look that way, but he was walking around in public without a hat! He’s changed, Mercedes, and we’re going to have to take this slow.”

Deep down, Mercedes knew he was right. It was just that she’d missed him so much and had felt how devastated he’d been when his father had died. She hadn’t been able to do anything for him, and it had broken her heart when his uncle had forced him out of town. “I guess I was thinking that if we could get him back the way he was, I wouldn’t have to think about the way he looked the last time we saw him.”

Kurt’s last day in Lima, all of Glee - including Mr. Sheuster and, of all people, Coach Sylvester, came to his dad’s house to say goodbye. Kurt had looked devastated, scared, resigned, lost. His eyes had been ringed with red, and he constantly forced his mouth into a tight line. He hadn’t looked anyone in the eye, folding his arms around his waist like he was worried he was going to fall into a million pieces if he let go. Everyone had taken turns hugging him, but he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t hugged back. It had been as if he’d already left them mentally, and all that was remaining was his shell of a body just going through the motions. Mercedes had been last, as was her due as his absolute best friend, and she’d whispered, “Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean I’m letting you go.” She’d heard a small sob and felt him shake in her arms as he rested his cheek against her shoulder.

His uncle had had to take him by the elbow and pull him away, shoving him in the passenger seat and ignoring all of them as he’d gotten into the car, muttering something about being late.

Kurt had never turned around and looked back to see them one last time. Mercedes knew this, because she hadn’t even blinked until the car turned out of sight.

She also knew that Kurt had changed the day his father had died and that he’d never be the same. But she’d imagined that he’d find a way to deal with his pain and live his life, maybe find someone to care about who could remind him of all the good things about life. She’d pictured visiting him during school breaks, going shopping, catching him up on the gossip. Instead, he’d run away, his uncle returning to Lima and threatening everyone who might have had something to do with it.

And now here he was, thin and tired, dirty and almost bald, and Mercedes was trying to act like he could return to who he was almost two years ago?

Sniffing and trying not to cry, Mercedes scooted closer to Puck and laid her head on his shoulder. “I know. It’s just that it hurts too much to try to imagine what he’s been going through.”

“We’re just going to have to be strong. You can totally do that.”

“I’m a badass?” She asked, hiccupping a little.

“Well, a badass in training maybe,” Puck conceded, and she could feel his smile.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Alex stood by the back door of Momma Cass’ shelter, shifting from foot to foot. He smiled grimly once he realized that he’d been doing the exact same thing twenty-four hours before, only he’d been at Washington Square Park at the time. He hadn’t relished that conversation, and he was even less eager to have this one. He wanted to just go in, get his stuff, and leave, but he figured Momma Cass wouldn’t let him go that easily, not after what had happened the day before.

He hadn’t slept well, despite the fact that he’d been more comfortable than he’d felt in what seemed like forever. He hadn’t had to keep one eye open to guard his stuff and make sure he didn’t get rousted by the cops or shaken down by anyone who thought he might have something of value. It seemed like every time he’d closed his eyes, he’d seen them, those faces from his past that he’d deliberately pushed to the back of his mind, because it had just hurt too much to keep thinking of the life he’d lost.

Shaking his head and taking a deep breath, he rang the bell, one quick burst in case someone was sleeping. He knew Momma Cass tended to rise early, and judging by the activity on the street, Alex assumed that while it was still early, it wasn’t early enough to be an indecent time to come calling.

After about a minute, the door swung open, and Alex involuntarily stepped back when the doorway was filled with Marcel.

“About time you came back,” the mountain said.

Alex nodded, his eyes bouncing around the doorframe. “Came to get my stuff.”

Marcel stepped back, and Alex slipped in, his hands digging into the pockets of his jean jacket.

“It’s still freezing out there,” Marcel said, closing the door.

“Hmm,” Alex agreed. He’d lost the art of fine talk a while ago and had learned to only speak when necessary - and then to say as little as possible.

“I noticed that you didn’t have your hat yesterday. Your stuff’s upstairs,” Marcel said, barely giving Alex a chance to realize what he was trying to say. The man climbed the stairs, not looking behind himself to see if Alex were following.

After a few moments, Alex started to climb the stairs. After all, Marcel had everything - except for a washcloth and a set of keys – and Alex needed his stuff back.

Marcel stopped at the top of the stairs, key in the lock. “Look, I need to tell you that your friends are still here.” He paused and waited.

It took Alex longer than it should have for him to understand what the man meant. Except for maybe Chase once upon a time, he didn’t have any friends. Then he pictured the two he’d run into the day before and took a breath. He’d assumed they’d left, returned to wherever they’d come from. He should’ve known better.

Marcel gave him a small smile. “Momma Cass let them spend the night, since we knew you’d be back to pick up your stuff.” He turned back toward the door, pausing when he heard Alex clear his throat.

Asking for things always made him uncomfortable, but the thought of seeing these people again with his head all uncovered seemed too much all at once. “Do you think…Maybe you have an extra hat I could use? I’ll give it back.”

He didn’t need to look into Marcel’s eyes to know the man pitied him, and he hated himself for showing the weakness. However he knew that walking in there as is meant that all he’d really be thinking about the entire time was how badly his head was looking.

“How about I go get your sweatshirt?”

Surprise brought Alex’s eyes flittering to Marcel’s for a moment. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll be right back.” Marcel smiled briefly, a flash of teeth and dimples. “Now don’t go anywhere.”

Alex tried to smile, knowing it probably came off forced and unnatural. They both knew that he wasn’t going to leave until he’d gotten his stuff.

The smile faded as the big man slipped through the door and closed it after himself.  
Alex really didn’t want to see these people. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that eventually they’d come back to look for him, but he’d thought he’d have more than one restless night to figure out how to handle it. Although, he thought, he couldn’t imagine that time would really help. Maybe, if he could make them realize that Kurt was gone forever, they could just get on with their separate lives.

He chose to ignore the small part inside himself that refused to believe it.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

“Your boy’s outside,” Momma Cass called out from her huge desk to Puck and Mercedes, who were at the table eating breakfast.

“How do you know?” Puck asked, curious. He knew the woman was formidable, but psychic was pushing it.

“We installed security cameras at the entrances a few months ago after an unfortunate incident,” she said, her voice letting him know that she wasn’t going to say more about any of that. “Come on over.”

Puck grabbed his cereal bowl and followed Mercedes over to the desk, standing behind Momma Cass to look at the black and white monitor.

Puck saw a body standing outside a door, the body shifting from side to side.

“Look at his pink little head,” Mercedes said sadly. “He used to be so proud of his hair.”

“Lice outbreak at another shelter,” Momma Cass said, shrugging. “It happens fairly often.”

“It’s gotta be cold,” Puck said, remembering how chilled he’d been the day before, and he’d been layered. “Why doesn’t he have a hat?”

“He had one,” Momma Cass said, falling silent.

“And…” Mercedes said, her voice rising a little at the end.

“And his friend Chase had it on yesterday,” Momma Cass finished. “I think Alex gave it to him. He’s always been generous with Chase,” she said fondly, and a little sadly Puck thought.

Mercedes must have been thinking the same, because she said, “that’s a good thing, right?”

Sighing, Momma Cass said, “Chase has managed to live on the street for a long time, because he came up with rules early on and lived by them. But after Mustafa died… he just gave up. I think Alex has been trying to look after him, but you can’t fix someone who’s decided he’s broken.”

“Who’s Mustafa?” Puck asked.

“His dog.”

That made sense to Puck after his morning reading. He partially turned his attention to Mercedes, his eyes remaining on the small monitor. “To the homeless, pets are more than family. They’ll give the last of the food to their dog.”

Momma Cass nodded. “Mustafa was everything to Chase.”

“Why is he still standing there?” Mercedes asked, distracted.

“He hasn’t rung the bell,” Momma Cass said. “Marcel has a camera feed in the office downstairs; he’ll probably see him in a minute and open up the door. There he goes,” she said as they watched the figure on the camera finally ring the bell.

They watched in silence as Marcel opened the door, pushing it wider so Kurt could enter.

Momma Cass turned in her chair, causing Puck and Mercedes to step back. “He’ll be up here in a minute. Remember what we talked about - try not to overwhelm him. Remember to listen to what he’s saying. Don’t take it personally if he doesn’t make eye contact. Don’t force anything on him, or he’ll run.”

“We’ll try,” Puck said, knowing he had to speak for the both of them, Mercedes standing in front of him, her hands into fists.

They had another second to get accustomed to the fact that they were going to see Kurt again before the door opened, revealing Marcel, who closed the door behind him.

“Where’s Kurt?” Mercedes asked, craning her neck to see behind him.

“Patience,” Marcel said, and Puck could almost feel the growl Mercedes managed to keep contained.

Part of him wanted to grin despite the frustration. He was eager to see Kurt too, but a hot Mercedes was always entertaining. He was going to witness a true show if they kept her waiting for much longer, and Puck wasn’t about to stand in her way, especially if they were trying to keep him away from his boy.

Pausing for a moment, Puck wondered when Kurt had become “his boy”. They’d never been close, not really. They’d evolved from their adversarial relationship - mostly his fault, although Hummel’s condescension could roll off him in waves - to one of mutual friendliness. They didn’t really hang beyond glee, but Kurt never again saw the inside of another dumpster at McKinley High.

A small bit of Mercedes’ growl eeked out, bringing him back to the present as Marcel reached high on a shelf, pulling down a box and grabbing a piece of black material before smiling back at them - his eyes lingering on Mercedes’ a little longer than his, Puck noticed - and retracing his path back out the door.

Momma Cass gave off a little hum before tossing them a small smile, an exact replica of her eldest son’s. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the door.

Marcel walked back in, stepping aside as a thin, hooded figure followed him inside and hovered in the doorway. At Marcel’s small head nudge in the direction of the room, the small figure entered slowly.

Mercedes’ hand fumbled for a moment before taking hold of his. He’d never admit that his grip was as tight as hers.

“Why don’t we all sit down?” Momma Cass suggested, and Marcel led everyone into the living room.

He and Mercedes sat on the same sofa he’d slept on the night before, Mercedes so close to him that she was almost in his lap. Normally, he’d enjoy the feel of her luscious goodness pressed all up against him in a carnal sort of way, but today he was doing his best to send - and receive, he was man enough to admit it - comfort. Mercedes’ body was practically humming, he figured with the same mixture of excitement and nervousness that was running through his body.

Absently, he noticed that Momma Cass and Marcel sat in the two chairs, leaving the other sofa for Hummel, who sat in the middle, perched on the edge, staring at the floor. He seemed so small there, hoodie covering his pink scalp and partially obscuring the top part of his face. His eyes remained focused on the floor as he sat there, the only movement a hand pressed against his chest, fist clenching and unclenching every so often.

“How was your first night in your new place?” Momma Cass asked, her tone gentle.

“Fine,” came the reply, so soft that Puck found himself leaning a little closer. The hand on the chest balled in to a fist, then released.

Puck was so focused on Kurt that it took him a moment to realize that Mercedes had taken a breath, and it was too late for him to squeeze her hand in warning.

“Kurt - “ she started.

“Alex,” Kurt said quickly. “The name’s Alex.”

Mercedes shifted slightly. “It’s so good to see you.”

Kurt’s eyes flickered toward Puck and Mercedes before returning to the floor. His hand did that squeezing motion again.

“We’ve been worried about you.” Another pause, and Mercedes tried again. “Why didn’t you come to us when you ran away from your Uncle’s? We would have helped you.”

A corner of Kurt’s mouth tilted up, but his gaze never changed. “They would have sent me back to him.”

“But we could’ve told them that he was unfit or something-”

Kurt was shaking his head before she even finished. “So then I would have been shipped off to some… home for wayward boys? And that’s even if they believed me.”

“At least you would have been safe,” Mercedes maintained.

“I would have been locked up somewhere,” Kurt said. “Here I can do what I want, go where I want.”

“But you’ve been alone!” Mercedes said. Momma Cass cleared her voice, and Mercedes took a breath. “At least we’ve found you. We can help you. Puck and I live here now, and you can come stay with us.”

Puck wasn’t sure about the logistics of that, what with all the bedrooms taken, but he’d be willing to share if Kurt agreed to come home with them. He remained silent, but he really didn’t think that Kurt was just going to shrug and move in.

“That’s okay. I have my own place.”

Mercedes made an exasperated noise. “But you’ll be with us, surrounded by friends.”

“I’m fine where I am.”

“But you’re not!” Mercedes ignored Puck’s warning squeeze, pulling her hand out of his. “Look at you! One strong wind could knock you over, you’re still wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday, and your hair-”

Kurt’s eyes shot up to Mercedes, and Puck could feel the anger. “I’ve been taking care of myself for two years! So don’t tell me about how you can come in here and save me! I can save myself!” 

“I’m not talking about saving you! I’m talking about getting you back where you belong, with us!”

“That’s not me. That’s not who I am anymore!”

“Kurt-”

“Stop calling me that! Kurt’s gone! My name is Alex!”

“That’s not who you are!”

“Hey!” During the course of the argument, both Mercedes and Kurt had risen, and Puck stood to put himself between the two. 

Kurt took a deep breath, calming himself. “You know who I was, but that was… that was a lifetime ago. I’m now Alex. I don’t dance; I don’t sing. I make do and live my life one day at a time. This is my life now, and I’m fine with it. I can’t go back, and I don’t want to.” He turned to Momma Cass. “I’m running late for work. Can I get my stuff, please?”

Marcel stood up and grabbed the box that had held Kurt’s jacket. He placed it on the floor and stood back. “It’s all here, man.”

Kurt tore his eyes from Mercedes’ forehead and walked over to the box, turning so he blocked their view. After a few seconds of fumbling, he pulled a bag across his shoulder and turned to face them. His eyes fluttered around the room before landing on the sofa he’d vacated. “I’m sure-” he stopped, cleared his voice. “I’m glad you are both doing okay, but… I’m Alex now. Kurt’s gone. I’m fine; you don’t need to worry about me.” He paused, took a breath, nodded, and headed toward the door.

“Remember tonight, Alex!” Momma Cass called after him, sighing as the door closed behind Kurt.

Mercedes made a little noise, muttering, “Excuse me,” before heading toward the bathroom, her head down.

Momma Cass sighed again.

“Mom, there was really no way this was going to go well,” Marcel said quietly.

“I know,” Momma Cass said, “but Mercedes has never been through anything like this before.”

“She’ll be fine,” Puck said. “It’s like you said - there’s no way to be prepared for something like this. She just needed to come face-to-face with what’s going on with him so she could get her bearings.” Momma Cass stared at him, and he forced himself not to fidget. Finally he asked, “What?”

“How are you doing?”

Puck shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie; seeing Kurt like that - all tentative and shit - sucked, but he’s alive and that’s good enough for me right now.”

“Do you think you two can come to terms with the fact that he’s not your friend anymore?”

Puck laughed. “You saw that hissy fit he just pitched? That was pure Hummel. He’s still in there; he just doesn’t want to have to deal with all the shit that comes with it.” Puck sat back down. “I can’t blame him. He lost his mom when he was small, and I’ve never seen anyone closer than he was with his dad. And then his dad had a heart attack, leaving him alone in the world.”

“What about that uncle that Mercedes mentioned?” Marcel asked.

“I only met him once, but he didn’t seem like the paternal type. He was Kurt’s mother’s cousin or something; the first time they met was at the funeral.” Puck thought back to the last time they’d seen Hummel. “I remember he grabbed Kurt and shoved him in the car as we were all trying to say goodbye after the funeral. He kept complaining that he was missing the football game back home.”

“Wow,” Marcel muttered.

“The dude was a total douche.” He remembered where he was and turned to Momma Cass. “Sorry.”

She smiled at him. “So you weren’t surprised when you found out he’d run away?”

“I suppose anyone can get to the point where they feel like they don’t have any choice, but Hummel would’ve been the last person I’d have expected to run away and live on the streets.” He sat back on the sofa and got more comfortable. “You should have seen him back then - hair perfect, pants so tight you could - “ he paused, glancing back at Momma Cass, “anyway, he’d wear these ridiculous designer clothes that must have set his dad back mounds of money and had this nightly skin care regimen that must have taken a good half an hour to complete.”

Marcel grinned. “You knew about his nightly skin care regimen?”

Puck leaned forward, grinning back. “Dude, _everyone_ knew about his skin care regimen. I don’t know specifics, but he had a morning routine and an evening one. It’s a wonder he had time for glee.”

“He was in glee club?”

“He and Mercedes were probably the two best singers there. There was this girl, Rachel, who was really good too, but Mercedes and Kurt had… I don’t know… something extra, something special. We all thought he was going to end up on Broadway or something…” And then it hit Puck, everything that Kurt lost when his father died. Of course, Puck knew that Hummel had lost someone vital in his life, but Burt Hummel’s death had also taken away the boy’s future.

“He sang like an angel,” Mercedes said quietly, entering the room and sitting back down beside Puck, who threw his arm around her and pulled her close without thought. Snuggling into his side, she said, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“Your mom and dad had to deal with much worse right after I found Marcel,” Momma Cass said.

“So,” Mercedes sighed. “What now?”

“Now you two take showers and get ready. We have a Black Friday dinner to put on, and you’ll have another chance with Alex.”

Puck could feel Mercedes tense at the name, but he was proud that she managed to refrain from correcting the woman. Instead she asked, “How do you know he’s gonna come? He’s not going to want to see us.”

“Easy,” Marcel answered with a grin. “He promised mom.”


	5. Puck Paves the Way

Chapter 5: Puck Paves the Way

Alex wiped his hands on a dirty rag by the sink and the cans of turpentine, forcing his yawn back down his throat. All he wanted to do was go home - home! - and sit there, staring at the walls until he fell asleep. But he’d promised Momma Cass that he’d help with Black Friday dinner, and even now - especially now - promises were set in stone.

“Alex!” Alejandro, his boss, walked up to him, peeling a few bills from the wad in his hand. “Good work today. You’re getting faster.”

Alex nodded, taking the money. “Thanks.”

“How’d you like the food?”

“It was good.” Because he never had any food, Alex usually worked through lunch, but Alejandro’s wife had made a small leftover Thanksgiving meal for the workers. They’d spread it all out over three long tables, even put little burners underneath to keep the food warm. Alex didn’t recognize most of the dishes, but he’d taken a little bit of everything, and it all had been wonderful. Of course, he hadn’t had anything to eat in over a day, and when he did manage to find food, he never got to eat it while it was hot. So just having a meal not from a garbage bin or trashcan was already a plus. Having it hot too made it a winner in his book; it didn’t even matter if it were any good. Hot and fresh trumped good every time, he was learning. “Please tell your wife thank you.”

“She’d make me bring you food every day if she knew you’d take it,” Alejandro said. “Hey - did you get your place okay?”

Surprised, Alex nodded.

“Queens is a small town,” Alejandro said, wiping his own hands. “The guy who owns the building is my cousin Raul’s wife’s brother’s baby momma’s brother-in-law.”

Accustomed to the family intricacies that seemed to follow every one of Alejandro’s conversations, Alex didn’t even try to follow it.

“She’s probably gonna give me some stuff for your new place; don’t even think about refusing it, because it would hurt her feelings.”

Alex nodded. He hadn’t realized that two months earlier, when he’d started working at the chop shop, he’d not only gotten a job but evidently admission into Alejandro’s strange family. Mostly consisting of people who couldn’t get legitimate jobs for various reasons, they were all brought together with a common knowledge of the workings of various vehicles - and how to dismantle them quickly. Alex hadn’t been very fast at the beginning, but he’d watched the others and quickly improved. They got paid by their performance, so he’d had a goal to reach for when he realized he could save up for a private room.

His first week on the job, Alex met Alejandro’s wife, Zuma, who’d taken one look at him and decided that he was going to be her special project. Alex was certain that Alejandro restrained her quite a bit, but he found knitted scarves and hats in his locker from time to time, or Alejandro had an extra sandwich packed into his lunch. It never seemed too much for Alex to accept or make him uncomfortable, and for that he was thankful.

“You got the restaurant tonight?”

Alex shook his head. “Volunteering with Momma Cass.”

Snorting, Alejandro grinned. “She’s the only one who could get a restaurant to let their best dishwasher off on the day after Thanksgiving.”

Unsure of what to say and certain he wasn’t the best dishwasher by any stretch of the imagination, Alex just shrugged and continued to stare at the money in his hands. After a few awkward moments to Alex - for a man with such a huge family, Alejandro had never met an uncomfortable moment - Alejandro nodded. “Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” Alex said, heading toward the bathroom so he could hide his money.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck caught himself getting ready to rub his hand through his hair, a nervous tick he’d been working on remedying. “What time’s he supposed to be here?” He looked at the large clock above the doorway leading from the kitchen into the dining room.

He and Mercedes had been moved - promoted? - to kitchen detail, following the directions of a red-faced, angry man with a strong Italian accent. They’d been introduced, but Puck’s mind had been on other things at the time. He’d been trying to figure out how he and Mercedes could somehow ensure that they didn’t lose touch with their friend. Kurt - Alex - was already skittish, adamant that he was someone new who didn’t need their help. Obviously, he still had his pride. So they had to somehow figure out a way to keep Hummel in their lives without threatening his sense of freedom. They had to get him to choose to stay in touch. So far, Puck hadn’t come up with a single way to make that happen. So he’d followed the red-faced dude’s orders while furiously trying to come up with something, anything, to give them more time. The answer walked right past him, and he almost snorted at how dumb he’d become. Watching his chance start to walk out of the kitchen, Puck tossed his last peeled potato in the pot, absently wiping his hands on his apron as he jogged toward the door. “Momma Cass, do you have a second?”

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Mercedes and Puck stood in the kitchen, watching the guy Momma Cass said had helped Kurt – Alex – and up until recently had been his best friend. He’d arrived early, followed by two creepy goth people, with the volunteers, but Mercedes had her doubts that he would stay after eating. This meant that they needed to talk to him before he inhaled the last of his food and disappeared.

“Maybe I should go alone,” Mercedes suggested, biting her lip. As tough as these homeless people looked and acted, they were awfully sensitive and had a thick protective shell. She didn’t judge it; she just wanted to see if she could get any information out of the kid before he bolted away from her, and she figured she was a lot less intimidating than Puck, with his swagger and badass attitude.

“Hell no,” Puck said. “I wanna hear what he has to say too.” He seemed to understand what worried her, though, because he added, “I promise that I’ll try not to be all tough and shit.”

She couldn’t help but smile at him. He’d been so awesome these last couple of days, letting her lean on him when he was just as shocked and lost as she was. Sure, he hadn’t been as close to Kurt as she had, but he’d been Puck’s teammate and fellow glee club member. He’d felt Kurt’s loss just like the rest of them and was just as amazed and disturbed and mixed up as she’d been after seeing Kurt, alive but looking like he’d barely been existing. Puck did deserve to hear what Chase had to say too.

Straightening her shoulders and pointing her girls forward – ignoring Puck’s snigger – she lead Puck over toward the table where he sat, hunched over his plate, arm protectively reaching around the tray to keep it close to him. She ignored the two goth people sitting beside him – she couldn’t even tell if they were male or female but dismissed it from her mind – and sat across from him, slowly setting down her tray so she wouldn’t scare him.

She wanted to roll her eyes at herself, wondering when she’d started thinking of them like the skittish colts she’d seen once on a documentary year before.  
“Hi,” she said, seeing Puck sit beside her out of the corner of her eye. “I’m Mercedes, and this is Puck.”

The kid didn’t even lift up his head or slow down the motion of shoveling food into his mouth.

Mercedes had to fight off the urge to look at Puck; she was determined to step up and take the lead on this. “We were hoping to talk to you about K-Alex.”

The shoveling slowed, and his eyes swept across them before returning to his plate.  
“He was a friend of ours… before,” she said.

He looked up at her again, his eyes glancing off hers and Puck’s before returning to his plate.

He was very pretty, angelic almost. It wasn’t a prettiness like Kurt; the blond hair curling from underneath his large dark knitted cap and the large grey eyes made him seem almost otherworldly. Small wispy hairs grew along the bottom of his face, but the scruff was also blond, so it was barely noticeable.

They sat in silence, and Mercedes thought about picking up her own fork, but she knew she really couldn’t eat anything. Not yet.

She was about to give up and had begun to turn to Puck when Chase spoke.  
“I remember you.”

His words had been so unexpected that she thought maybe she’d imagined them. “What?”

“You got your purse stolen when you came up here to sing.”

“That’s right.” Mercedes looked at Puck, who shrugged, obviously just as confused as she was. “How did you know that?”

His eyes on his plate, he shrugged one shoulder. “We were across the street, watching you, and we saw Bu- someone snatch your purse.”

“Did Kurt- I mean Alex - was he the one who turned it in at the hotel?”

Chase shook his head. “I did it. He got the purse back,” Chase paused, small smile on his face before continuing, “and I turned it in for him.”

“Why didn’t he just come see us?” Mercedes asked. He had to have known that they all would have done whatever he needed to help him.

Chase shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.” He pushed back from the table, grabbed his plate, utensils, and cup, and walked away, the two goths following him seconds later.

“I guess that’s all he had to say,” Puck said quietly.

Mercedes couldn’t seem to separate all of the feelings inside her. She was so happy to have found her boy, but everything she seemed to learn about him made him float that much further away from her. “Why didn’t he come to us?”

“What could we have done?” Puck asked. “Think about it. He was still sixteen at the time, which means that he’d have had to go back to living with that douche bag of an uncle, who has to be the reason he ran away in the first place.”

Mercedes wasn’t willing to give up. “But we could have-” she cast around in her mind for a solution.

“We couldn’t have done dick, and he knew it,” Puck said.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Alex felt his bag bump against his back as he stretched plastic over a table, waiting for another volunteer to tape it down. The way the woman leaned close to him made him uncomfortable, but he knew his body space bubble was way bigger than most. So he just held himself still while the she wielded her tape dispenser and was thankful when they finished covering all of the tables.

After that, he looked for Momma Cass for further instructions, but one of the other volunteers said that all available personnel were needed in the kitchen, so that’s where he headed next.

Walking through the doorway, his eyes immediately lit upon Mercedes, who was trying to grab a spoon that Marcel was holding out of her reach. For a moment, Alex was Kurt again, back in Lima, watching his best friend giggle and flirt with a cute boy. The clatter from a dropped pan returned him to the present, where he reminded himself that the past was the past and that he wasn’t that guy any longer. Quickly turning his back on the scene, he walked through toward the back entrance to find Momma Cass arguing with Toothless Tony who, actually, still had most of his own teeth. He was older, wizened. Living on the streets aged a person, so it was impossible to tell how old he was, but he was considered one of the old-timers, an impressive feat considering the shortened life expectancy of the homeless. But Toothless Tony was known for being a mean drunk, one who’d bash your head in if he thought you were a threat. Maybe that was why he’d lived so long, Alex thought.

Toothless Tony shoved Momma Cass hard, making her fall. Momma Cass was a formidable woman, physically and spiritually, and she’d done so much for Alex that he wasn’t about to stand there and let her be hurt.

Without a second thought, he shoved himself in front of Tony, stopping the man’s entrance into the building and barring his access to Momma Cass.

“Out of my way, Small Fry,” the man said quietly, the stench of alcohol and old sweat rippling off him like heat off a paved road.

“Leave now,” Alex said just as quietly. He’d learned quickly that yelling only drew attention, but a dead even voice and a tough body language were way more effective.

“I’ll split you open and gut you like a fish without even blinking,” Tony warned, pulling out a knife.

His weapons confiscated when he arrived, Alex didn’t have anything to fight with besides his attitude and the moves he’d learned after his years on the street. Curling his mouth into a snarl, he jutted his hand out quickly, snagging Tony’s wrist, pressing until he knew it hurt. Tony didn’t let go of the knife, but Alex didn’t expect that. Alex stepped right up into Tony’s face, eyes focused and hard. “If you’re gonna stick me, you’d better kill me, because if you don’t, I will find you one night, when you’re sleeping in some corner somewhere, and I will. Slit. Your. Throat.” He’d slowly been pushing Tony back as he spoke until Tony’s back was against the corner of the door. He punctuated the last three words by shoving Tony against the corner hard. “Leave or let’s do this.” He continued to stare at Tony until the older man’s eyes dropped slightly, and after a few more seconds, he let go with one last push.

Tony stood there for a moment, and Alex continued to stare unflinchingly into the man’s eyes. After an angry snort, Tony backed away and turned into the night.

After making sure the man was gone, Alex turned to Momma Cass, who was standing behind him. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, reaching out before stopping herself and dropping her hand. “Thanks, Alex. He took me by surprise.”

Alex nodded, burying the regret over her aborted move. He knew she had extensive martial arts training, but she’d dropped her guard. All the training and knowledge in the world couldn’t help if a person didn’t remain vigilant. Keeping up that wall had been taxing when he’d first been out on the street, but now it was secondhand. Perhaps it was still exhausting, he realized suddenly, but he’d just gotten used to it.

Pulling at the bottom of her shirt with a decisive jerk, she smiled at him. “Were you looking for me?”

“I wanted to see if I could help you with anything.”

She laughed. “I think you already took care of that.”

He smiled, absently rubbing at the strap across his chest. “Anything else?”

“Actually, if you could help in the donation room – it’s been unseasonably cold this year, and I thought we could offer blankets to people as they leave.” He turned to go, but she called him back. “I packed up some supplies for your new place, so see me before you go, and I’ll grab them from upstairs.”

“Thanks,” he said, heading to the storage room. He’d never actually been in it before and was surprised at the amount of stuff folded neatly in piles around the large room. Above each pile was a large piece of paper detailing what was below. He saw several papers listing “blankets” along the far wall and headed over when he heard a noise. Grabbing hold of his strap, he called out, “Hello?”

“You came to help?” He heard from somewhere inside the room.

“Momma Cass sent me?” He sighed inwardly at the hesitant sound of his voice.

“Great. I’m over here by the blankets against the far wall. Look for the moving pile of material.”

Alex smiled slightly and headed toward the wall. Passing a pile of sheets, he saw the back of a man as he tried to pull out a stack of blankets from the bottom of the pile. He ran closer and managed to stop the top of the stack from falling.

“Can you just hold that for a second?” The man scooched his bottom stack out a little further. “Push your pile toward the wall as I pull these out.” Between the two of them, they managed to keep the pile from falling as the man pulled out the bottom stack. Alex leaned against his pile, panting slightly.

“Dude, you came at the perfect time. I was headed for a serious collapse, and it would’ve been hell if I’d had to refold all of those blankets. I can’t fold for shit.”

As soon as he heard the first word, Alex realized he was in a room with Puck. He continued to lean against the blankets, uncertain of what to do. He wondered, a little resentfully, if this had been deliberate on Momma Cass’ part. After a few seconds, he realized that there was no way he could hide from Puck here and now, so he slowly turned around.

Only to find Puck’s back to him.

“I got the ones Momma Cass asked for, but did they really have to be on the bottom of the stack? Seriously?” Puck turned around, doing a double take when he recognized who was standing there. If there’d been a plan, he’d obviously not been a part of it.

Despite his dismay, Alex had to hold back a smile.

Then he watched, fascinated, at the play of emotions that crossed Puck’s face. Unused to examining people that closely, he didn’t recognize them all, but he was pretty sure he saw surprise, happiness, ending in what looked like dismay or fear. Those confused Alex; why would Puck be afraid of him? Even if he had seen Alex’s altercation with Toothless Tony, he wasn’t the type of person who would think that someone Alex’s size could take him on and win. Puck’s ego was too large for that.

After a lengthy pause, Alex looked around the room. “Did she need anything else?”

Puck snorted. “More blankets. What you wanna bet that they’re on the bottom of yet another pile?” He smiled. “But you’re here now, so you can save me if I get buried.”

Alex wasn’t sure what to say to that comment, so he remained silent.

Clearing his voice, Puck looked around until he pointed to a blanket pile toward the far corner. “She wanted the red ones. It looks like they’re scattered in that pile over there.”

Alex looked at the pile of green blankets in Puck’s hand.

“I guess she wants to go for a Christmas theme,” Puck explained. “People can go for the red or the green.”

“Better than the white.” Alex tilted his head toward two large piles of white blankets. They’d get dirty before they even left the shelter.

“What kind of idiots would give white blankets to a homeless shelter?”

Alex shrugged one shoulder. He tried not to think about other people’s motives.  
They walked over to the pile they needed and quickly developed a routine, Puck pulling off the red blankets and Alex pulling off the unneeded ones.

“So,” Puck said conversationally, putting Alex on edge. “I hear you’re a working man now. What d’you do?”

“This and that,” Alex said.

“Here and there?” Puck smiled, making Alex smile back despite himself. After a few more seconds, Puck added. “I’m assuming that you’re not being that vague because you work at McDonalds.” He looked over Alex, making Alex want to squirm a little. “Besides, I can’t see you asking someone if they want fries with that.” He thought a moment. “This is what I think. I think that since you’re going by a different name and don’t want to be tracked by Evil Uncle, you have to work under the table so you don’t have to give out a social security number. The one thing I know you’re good at is working on cars, so I figure you’re doing something illegal with cars. Chop shop maybe?”

Alex didn’t realize he’d stopped to stare, fascinated, as Puck so easily worked out his life – or at least part of his life. He hadn’t realized he was so easy to figure out.

“Don’t look so scared,” Puck said, nodding for Alex to take the blue blanket on top of the pile. “While I’d love for you to believe I’m so brilliant that I pulled that out of my ass, I’ve actually been thinking about it since you picked up your stuff this morning. Although,” he grinned, “you can still think I’m brilliant if you want.”

Alex felt one corner of his mouth raise and realized that for once in a long time, he was curious about another person. “What are – are you going to college here?”

“I’m not cut out for college, at least not right now. That’s Mercedes. She’s going to Tisch. I’m in a band and work at Archetypes, a bookstore in Alphabet City.”

Alex nodded. It’d been so long since he’d tried to carry on a regular conversation that he was confused at how to continue it.

Fortunately, Puck didn’t really need Alex’s help. “I think the band is pretty good; we’re booking more and more gigs around the city, and we’re hoping to record our first EP in the next few months.

“I got really lucky. In fact, I’ve been coasting on the luck wave for a while now. Gotta make the most of it before it strands me on dry land.” They finally made it to the floor, and together they pushed Alex’s pile against the wall and put the red blankets on top of the green ones on the hand truck. Puck grabbed the handles and asked Alex to hold open the door before he continued. “See, I met this dude while we were up here for Nationals – ” he gave Alex a strange sidelong look but continued, “and he called after I’d graduated, wanted to know if I’d move up to join his band. Mercedes let me crash with her until one of her roommates had to leave, so now we live in a pretty decent apartment in Brooklyn with Thomas, who’s a junior at Tisch. We have three bedrooms and different schedules, so we rarely see each other. Plus, Thomas is pretty serious with his girlfriend, so he’s almost always with her.”

Alex nodded.

“You’ve just gotten more talkative, haven’t you?” Puck said wryly.

Alex almost laughed and stopped, surprised at himself. He dumbly followed Puck as they made their way to the cafeteria.

“And I gotta say that the dating pool up here has done wonders for my social life.” Puck caught Alex rolling his eyes and laughed. “I’m not saying that I was hurting or anything, but it’s nice having more choices. Look at glee; it was becoming almost incestuous how many times we switched partners.

“But now, it feels like my choices are pretty much limitless. It helps that I’m in a band.” Puck gave a small grunt as he pushed the hand truck full of blankets through a doorway. “And being bisexual has opened up a whole other set of options.”

Shocked, Alex stopped, watching Puck walk away.

Puck seemed to notice he was alone and turned to look behind him. “You coming?”

Alex nodded and scrambled to catch up. “When did you become bisexual?”

Lifting a shoulder, Puck continued pushing. “I guess I’ve always known it. It’s just that I wasn’t sure what was going on, because I’m not as attracted to men as I am to women. I mean, I can find something hot about pretty much every woman, but I’m a little more… discriminating when it comes to men. Evidently my bar is pretty high there. So I just kind of ignored the whole being attracted to men thing, because it rarely came up. And then, once I graduated… I don’t know. Maybe it was the freedom of not having to define myself in high school terms, but the rest just kind of fell into place.”

Alex knew he was looking at Puck strangely, but he felt a little lost. Puck still looked like Puck – a little more filled out now that he was older, but still Puck. But the words coming out of his mouth didn’t sound like the Puck he remembered. It was like someone had taken him, scooped out his insides, and filled him back up with another personality, a personality with maturity and an impressive command of language.

He wondered how Puck and Mercedes felt when they looked at him.

Puck laughed. “You should see your face right now.”

Blushing, Alex muttered, “Sorry.”

“I get it. You have this image of me from high school two years ago. I’ve learned that if you don’t bend through life, you’ll end up having life break you in half.” Another shrug. “Acknowledging every part of myself has made life a lot easier.” He grinned. “Besides, I get even more options at the clubs.”

“Obviously you haven’t changed that much,” Alex noted sarcastically.

Puck laughed.

“There you are! Put them up over here, and you can hand them out as people leave. One per person, okay?” Momma Cass just appeared out of nowhere, and Alex didn’t miss her quick speculative look at the two of them. Oddly enough, he didn’t mind it as much as he might have earlier.


	6. One Step Forward...

Chapter 6: One Step Forward…

 

Puck was actually having fun. When he’d gone to Momma Cass for help, his goal had just been to figure out a way to get Alex to stop running away. He hadn’t expected to spend some quality time with his old glee mate.

Momma Cass’ first word of advice had been to start thinking of Kurt as Alex, both in word and in mind. Maybe one day in the future he might want to reclaim his original name, but it had to be his choice, and any attempt to force him to do anything would make him at best dig in his heels, and at worse disappear. Her second suggestion was for Puck to focus on himself, not ask questions that might make Alex feel like he was being put under a microscope. Her third and final tip was that Puck leave space for Alex to feel comfortable enough to talk about himself if he so wanted.  
So, Puck did what he did best; he talked about himself. He made jokes, filed away what nuggets of information Alex shared with him, and was thankful for the time. Sure, Alex didn’t say much, but he showed glimmers of the old Hummel in the roll of his eyes and the small smiles he’d toss Puck’s way.

Grabbing all of the blankets had taken longer than Puck had anticipated – although he had to admit that he’d stopped rushing through the task once Alex joined him – and all of the tables were now filled with people enjoying a Thanksgiving meal. The line for the next wave of people was heading out the door, and Puck could see Momma Cass’ sons occupied with each of their tasks. He’d missed out on all of this the day before, since they’d run into Alex before all this started, and they’d been upstairs trying to wrap their minds around finding their friend. But today he stood back and watched the brothers work like a well-oiled machine.

Marcel handled the door, taking weapons and frisking those he felt needed the extra assistance. One of the other brothers – Marcus? Malachi? He didn’t know them well enough to tell them apart – was making space as the eaters began to rise and gestured toward the other brother at the door, who would point them toward the vacated areas. Puck wondered how many years they’d been doing this together.  
Handing three blankets to a small family leaving, Puck looked over at Alex. “So I hear you have your own place? Congratulations, man.”

Alex’s ears turned red, small smile on his face. It was obvious he was proud, and Puck couldn’t imagine how hard it probably had been for him to save up enough money. After skimming some of Momma Cass’ books upstairs and talking to her a little more about it, he had a better idea of the difficulties facing homeless teens in New York.

“I have keys.” It was said so quietly that Puck almost missed it in the cacophony of excited voices in the dining room.

“How many? I swear, I’ve never seen so many locks on doors. We have three locks on ours, two that need keys and one that locks from the inside. I keep worrying that one day Mercedes will use that inside lock when I’m trying to come home after a gig, and I’ll be stuck outside in the cold.”

“You could always call her.”

“Naw, if she used that lock, she’s pissed at me. There’s no way my butt’s getting back in until I’ve wooed myself back into her good graces.” He tossed another grin toward Alex and was happy to find a small one being directed back toward him. He’d noticed that Alex hadn’t answered his initial question, but his goal was to make Alex comfortable hanging out with him. As Momma Cass reminded him, this whole thing was a race, not a sprint, and one thing – one more thing – Puck had learned about himself was that when properly motivated, he could dig up sufficient amounts of patience.

“You said you work at a bookstore?”

Puck nodded, trying not to make a big deal over the fact that Alex was actually asking another question without any kind of prompting. “Yeah, it’s an independent used bookstore. They’re awesome. They have a small café, sell some used DVD’s and CD’s, and we have events there too. It’s pretty cool. They also provide benefits for their fulltime employees, which has been really helpful. Mom’s been able to take me off her insurance, so she gets more in her take-home pay now. And between the bookstore and my gigs, I’ve been able to become completely self-sufficient, which is a nice change.”

After a few minutes of silently handing out blankets and receiving some soft thank you’s along the way from people never looking him in the eye, Puck heard Alex offer up another tidbit into his life. “I also work at a restaurant. Washing dishes.”

Puck frowned. “They don’t have one of those industrial dishwashers?”

“They do. Me.”

Barking out a surprised laugh, Puck turned to find Alex grinning at him.

“There you are! I haven’t seen you in so long, I thought you’d run away.” Mercedes walked up to him, smile on her face and hands on her hips. It took her a few seconds to realize that Alex was beside him. “Oh!” Her smile became uncertain. “Hey, K – ”

“Alex,” Puck muttered underneath his breath.

“Alex. Hey, Alex.”

His eyes once again lowered, Alex nodded and handed out a few blankets.

“Alex and I’ve been handing out blankets as people leave,” Puck volunteered. “What do they have you doing?”

She sighed, her epic cleavage taking Puck’s focus so he missed the first part of what she said. ”– and then they had me washing pots and pans!”

“That totally blows.”

“Look at my hands! Look at them!” She held them out for his inspection. She’d made him look at her hands so many times after trips to the spa that he knew her nails weren’t supposed to look so scraggly, the paint chipping, the skin dry and ashy.

“I’m sure Momma Cass has some lotion you can use to get rid of the ash,” he offered. “And a trip to your nail place will take care of the rest of it.” A glance toward Alex showed that he obviously wanted to say something but was holding himself back.

“But in the meantime, I’ll have to go around looking like this!”

“Look at it this way; you’re building up good karma points.”

Mercedes laughed and bumped his shoulder. “Good point.”

Puck looked over toward Alex only to find an empty space. “Where’d he go?”

Shoulders slumping, Mercedes looked at him. “I ran him off, didn’t I?”

Puck handed out a few blankets and took a moment to put his arm around his friend. “He’s just going to need some time to get used to having people in his life again, and we’re not going anywhere.” He hoped he’d made a good start.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck rolled over on Sunday afternoon, yawning as he climbed out of bed and padded to the bathroom, barely acknowledging the squeals he heard on his way.

“Puck, what have I said about walking around the apartment naked?” Mercedes chastised him.

“Girl, if I were you, I’d stop yelling and take some pictures,” another female voice said.

“Monique’s taking care of that already,” a third female voice muttered.

Puck had to turn at that and grin at the five lovely African American women sitting around the coffee table in the living room. “Ladies,” he said, his voice still gravely from sleep.

“Hel-lo,” one woman whispered, while another continued to take pictures with her phone.

Sparing them one last glance, Puck sauntered into the bathroom, smile still on his face once he was alone. He knew he looked good. He’d even joined a gym to take the place of the regular football and baseball workouts he’d had during high school. Every so often, he’d pickup a basketball game here and there as well. So he figured there was nothing wrong with appreciating what you had, especially if you had to work hard to maintain it. He put in the effort; he deserved the reward.

He took a quick shower, leaving the bathroom steaming, and sauntered out in his towel.

“You can stop flexing; the ladies are gone,” Mercedes said dryly from the island in the kitchen.

Puck laughed, rubbing his second towel over his hair. “Their loss.”

“I’m sure they would’ve stayed if they’d known there was going to be a second show.”

“It’s always a roundtrip from the bathroom,” he pointed out.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll make sure that we have more study sessions here in the – ” she looked at her watch. “ – early afternoon.” Picking up a pan, she added. “Want some lunch?”

“Actually, how about we eat out for brunch?” He asked.

“Sure,” she said, happily returning the pan to the cabinet. “Where do you want to go?”

“I have a craving for Spanish food.”

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Most people thought of washing dishes at a restaurant as a terrible job, but Alex found it relaxing. His rough hands, long used to the heat of the water and the chemicals in the detergents, did their job automatically, and he could let his mind wander.

The past few years, he’d learned how to make his mind blank, let it wander through colors and scenes in his mind, travel to other places, real and imagined. He listened to music in his head, soothing instrumentals containing dramatic flair.

He thought of his mind as a ribbon, floating on the air, drifting in whatever direction the wind took him, and he liked the idea that he was dependent on something else by choice, not by fortune.

In all of these wanderings, he was always alone. Never lonely, but always alone.  
Today, though, for the first time, he felt the lack of company like a missing phantom limb, not there but feeling like it should be. It worried and confused him, but he didn’t like introspection; it was another dangerous path to take.

He washed dishes, very much in the world this time, trying to let the loud music and Spanish mostly yelled by Iago, the chef, to the others wash over him, trying to deny the sudden urge for more.

He wasn’t sure how long it took to get his attention, but he realized that Alban, one of the waiters was talking to him, telling him that he had a visitor.

All conversation in the kitchen ceased. While he was polite and worked hard, Alex kept to himself. He never received any calls or had people picking him up or dropping him off. It was unheard of for someone to come visit him, so naturally everyone was curious.

The only people who knew where he worked were Alejandro, Momma Cass, and her boys, and Alex couldn’t see any one of them visiting him here. He peeked out of the swinging doors and saw Puck looking expectantly in his direction, grinning when he spotted Alex. The person facing him turned, and he saw Mercedes’ delighted smile.  
Closing the door quickly, he closed his eyes. He was breathing hard and wanted nothing better than to run away again, but he knew that they’d just come back. They couldn’t stay the night here like they did at Momma Cass’, but they’d end up becoming regulars just to spite him. Mercedes would tell everyone about Kurt, and Puck would end up dating all of the cute waitresses – actually, after Puck’s revelation, he’d probably end up dating all of the cute waitresses and waiters.

Opening his eyes, he took a deep breath and noticed everyone in the kitchen staring at him. Offering a general, lame smile, he took one more breath and pushed out of the door, walking over to the table, where he stood awkwardly, unsure of what was expected of him.

“Hey,” Puck said as if they’d just chatted earlier that day.

“Hey,” Alex repeated.

“So what’s good here?”

Alex had expected all sorts of comments and questions, but that one caught him by surprise. “Umm, everything, actually. Iago is a really good chef.”

Puck looked at Mercedes. “Why don’t we just order a whole bunch of things, get them to go, and eat them back at the apartment?”

Mercedes nodded. “That sounds good.”

They both looked at Alex, who wasn’t sure what they expected of him. He’d already told them that everything was good; what else was he supposed to do?

“You get off soon, right?” Puck asked in the tone of a man who already knew the answer.

“Umm…”

“Yes, sir, he does,” Alban said with a smile.

“Great! You can come with us and help us eat it all.”

Alex started to feel a little pressured, like when he’d get cornered in the street and knew that he was going to have to fight his way out. Only this time, he couldn’t pull out his shiv and cut someone.

He much preferred his chances on the street.

Uncomfortable, he retreated back into the kitchen, keeping his focus on the sink. He couldn’t bear to think of the speculation, the conversations going on in the kitchen, all about him. He just wanted to immerse his hands into the hot, soapy water and let his mind fly again.

“Alex!” Iago rarely even looked at him, had never spoken to him, and Alex found that it worked out well for both parties involved. But now their run had come to an end, Alex thought sadly as he turned and stared at the chef’s right ear. “Go home.”

Startled, Alex briefly glanced at Chef’s face to be certain he’d heard correctly. “Chef?”

“Go home. You always take over for everyone else. It’s now your turn. Go and eat with your friends. We will prepare the best, and maybe they tell their friends.” Chef’s heavy accent didn’t hide his kind tone, and Alex felt himself get a little emotional. Chef was never nice, never concerned. And now, suddenly, he was being nice to the dishwasher?

Pushing back tears he didn’t understand, Alex nodded and took off the apron he’d wrapped around himself and grabbed his bag.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Mercedes was worried. And a little tired. As a performer, she was used to expressing many emotions within a small amount of time, but those same emotions in real life were exhausting. She’d been happy to go out to lunch with Puck, although she couldn’t understand why, with all of the restaurant choices, Puck would want to go to a Latin American restaurant in Queens. Once they sat down, and Puck asked after Alex, she understood. Leaning across the table, she whispered, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

Puck, as always, seemed calm and assured. “It’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t do well when he feels he’s being cornered. He might run.”

“I’ve been working out; I’ll catch him.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes at his smirk. “Look, I know you two hit it off the other day, but for some reason, I still scare him.” She tried not to show her fear as she tried to make Puck understand. “I can’t stand the look he gets when he sees me, like I’m…” she cast around for the right word, “like I’m trying to hurt him or something.”

“He’s never gonna get over it if you two don’t start spending some time together.” Puck leaned forward too, his face close to Mercedes as he whispered, “I know that this is a big step for all of us, especially him, but I gotta tell ya’,” he sat back, smirk back on his face, “I don’t do small ones.” His smirk turned into a full grin as he looked behind her, and Mercedes knew he must be looking at Alex.

Mercedes didn’t say much as Puck decided to order a butt load of food to go, and she tried to look as unthreatening as she could. She figured she’d done okay, considering Alex hadn’t even looked at her once. Of course, he never seemed to look anyone in the eyes nowadays either, so she wasn’t sure if it meant anything. One of the waiters stepped up to say that his shift was almost over, and she saw him get that trapped look in his eyes, the way he did when he first saw them, and she was sure he was going to run. He did seem to step quickly back into the kitchen, but the smile from the waiter encouraged her. She still looked over at Puck and asked, only half joking, “Think one of us should go to the back to make sure he doesn’t run?”

For the first time that day, Puck looked a little unsure. “We’re already pushing him as it is. If we go further, we’re going to lose him.”

She looked at Puck closely. They hadn’t really talked about the situation much since they’d left Aunt Momma’s, and she knew that that wasn’t like her. However, she was honest enough with herself to admit that she’d felt a little jealous at how easily Puck had managed to break thorough Alex’s defenses. However, instead of allowing that negativity to fester, she’d taken Marcel at his word and called him. He’d helped her turn it around, and she used it as incentive, as proof that getting into Alex’s life was possible. She almost smiled when she remembered the homework he’d given her, to practice saying “Alex” instead of “Kurt”, and it had actually helped. Now she was going to put it to the test, and she worried that she was going to ruin it all.

“Hey,” Puck said, taking one of her hands. “Someone’s gonna mess up. It’s bound to happen, and it’ll probably be me.” His lip quirked, and Mercedes had to grin. “We’re all just feeling our way along here, even Alex. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

Feeling a presence behind her, Mercedes turned to find Alex standing there, hoodie on, his eyes on the floor. He still had that bag that he never seemed to take off, the strap stretching across his chest and emphasizing how tiny he’d become. He looked solid, just… small.

The waiter returned and placed three filled bags of food on the table, large smile on his face. “All of our best dishes. Alex will give you the names, okay?”  
“Thanks,” Mercedes said, reaching for the wallet in her bag.

“I got it,” Puck said. “I’ll be right back.” He and the waiter walked to the register, leaving Mercedes alone with Alex for the first time.

“So,” Mercedes said, searching for something to say. “You like working here?”

Alex nodded.

“If the food tastes like it smells, I would’ve gained twenty pounds my first day.”

The small smile encouraged her.

“Puck and I live in Brooklyn, but we should probably catch a cab with all the bags here. That way, they might still be a little warm when we get to our place.” She saw the frantic eye movement and wondered if he were more worried about being in a cab with them or the thought that he’d have to pay his share of the ride. “It’s our treat since we’re kidnapping you.” She smiled at him. He didn’t really respond, so she said quietly, “I know we kind of threw this at you, so if you don’t want to come with us, you don’t have to.” No response. She stepped forward but made sure she wasn’t too close. “Alex, it’s your choice.”

His eyes snapped up to hers for a moment, and she saw the surprise there.

Before she could say anything else, she saw Puck returning.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing two of the bags.

Alex took the last bag, letting Mercedes know that he was planning on going with them. Alone at the table, she breathed a sigh of relief before following her boys out of the restaurant and into the cold.

Evidently, Puck had been busy. While he’d paid for the food, he’d managed to get the waiter to call a cousin of some sort who drove a gypsy cab. The man waited for them outside of the restaurant and pulled away from the curb without a single word. Puck sat in the front, leaving Mercedes and Alex in the back with the bags.

“These smell really good,” Mercedes called toward the front. “I think Alex and I are just gong to take a little taste.”

“Leave the bags alone, Aretha,” Puck warned without turning around.

“Just one…little…taste,” Mercedes teased.

“I will cut you,” Puck said calmly.

Automatically, Mercedes turned to Alex, who was smiling softly at the back of the driver’s seat, his hands loosely gripping his strap. She felt like she’d really accomplished something. He wasn’t as tense, and while he wasn’t joining in the teasing, he seemed to be having a little bit of fun. It was Alex’s version of Kurt’s hopping up and down and clapping his hands.

Mercedes and Puck kept up their routine until the cabbie pulled up in front of their building, Puck’s paying the man before helping with the bags. Mercedes made a mental note to find out how much Puck was paying out so she could pitch in her fair share.

“We’re on the fourth floor,” Mercedes told Alex apologetically.

“My room’s on the fifth,” Alex said.

Mercedes and Puck shared a warm glance, and she wanted to hug him; she could tell that he realized the same thing. This was the first comment Alex had made voluntarily, without a single prompt. She felt like celebrating.

The apartment was immaculate, thanks more to Mercedes than Puck or Thomas. She was glad she’d made the effort, although she wasn’t sure if Alex appreciated it all that much. She watched him look around briefly, then stand at the door as Puck walked into the kitchen. The urge to grab his arm and tug him into the kitchen felt so strong that it almost hurt to ignore it, but she remembered what she’d heard about how he reacted to people touching him and knew it would probably set back the progress they’d made so far that day. Instead, she tilted her head toward the kitchen. “You can put your bag here by the door if you want.”

Alex shook his head.

“Okay, well, you can follow Puck in the kitchen with the food.”

Alex nodded, walking into the kitchen where Puck was already taking containers out of the bags and placing them on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“We can set out everything here and then eat in the living room,” he explained.

“Since we don’t have a real kitchen or dining room, we tend to eat there,” Mercedes added, squeezing into the kitchen to grab plates, utensils, and napkins.

“Plus, the television’s in there.” Puck grinned at him. “We have the full premium package, which includes all of the movie and, more importantly, sports channels.”

Rolling her eyes, Mercedes said, “Do not get him started on that. You would think by the way he talks about it that he does nothing but watch sports, but he’s never even really here to appreciate it.”

“Hey, I watch it,” Puck countered. “It is just easier to do when you’re in class.” He leaned toward Alex conspiratorially. “When she’s not complaining about it, she’s sitting there asking stupid questions.”

“I asked you once – once! – who the cute quarterback was,” Mercedes said.

“Once was enough,” Puck grumbled.

“Please, like you didn't think he was cute too.”

Puck had nothing to say to that.

Laughing, Mercedes handed each man a plate. “Okay, Alex. Time to show us your expertise. What is all this?”

Alex stepped forward and pointed to each dish, explaining what it was called, the type of food included, how each dish was made. Mercedes hadn’t heard him say so much since before his father passed away. It was just facts said in a kind of deep monotone, but Mercedes was grateful for it just the same.

They all grabbed food and spread out in the living room. Puck sat in the recliner, which, Mercedes explained, was where he lived when he was home and not in his room. Mercedes took one side of the sofa, leaving the other one for Alex.

“We forgot the drinks,” Mercedes realized, putting her plate down on the coffee table.

“I got it,” Puck volunteered. “Alex, what do you want? We have soda, milk, juice, water, beer.”

Alex looked a little scared, and Mercedes wondered how long it had been since he’d been given choices. “Do you want to start with some water?” She asked gently.

Alex looked relieved. “Yes, please.”

“Water it is,” Puck said. “’retha?”

“Juice, please.”

Puck returned quickly with the drinks, and Mercedes bent her head down to pray. Puck had been around her enough to know that while she’d let him get away with avoiding it outside, she fully expected him to pray with her before a meal at home. She was so used to it that it didn’t occur to her to discuss it with Alex. “Thank you, God for this our blessings,” she started when she heard the scrape of metal on glass and opened her eyes to find Alex bent over his plate, shoveling food into his mouth faster than he should have been able to chew and swallow.

She looked over to Puck and saw that he was watching Alex with a sad, surprised expression on his face. Turning back to Alex, she realized that she had seen this kind of behavior before when they were questioning his friend Mace and as she watched quite a few homeless people eat in the two days they had volunteered with Aunt Momma. She had noticed that it was usually the people who came in alone who ate curled up over their plates, not the families or the people with friends. Just the loners, and it broke her heart a little to realize that her old friend had become one of those.

Shrugging, Puck started eating, and Mercedes followed suit. They ate in silence, Puck and Mercedes trying not to be obvious as they watched Alex scarf through his meal. After he finished, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and finally looked up. Mercedes watched him still and figured he had realized that she and Puck were not even halfway through their plates.

Trying to sound casual, she said, “Help yourself to seconds.”

It seemed to her that Alex wanted to go back for more, but he just shook his head. “No, thank you.” He tugged at his strap before raising his plate and utensils. “Where can I put these?”

“Just drop them in the sink,” Puck told him. “We'll rinse them off and throw them in the dishwasher later.” He picked up the remote. “Let’s see what movies are on.”

Alex headed to the kitchen, and Mercedes leaned toward Puck. “See if there are any musicals, like ‘Guys and Dolls’ or ‘Grease’.”

Puck did some fancy maneuvering with the remote, accessing the cable's search feature. “How about ‘Brigadoon’?”

“Perfect!” Mercedes leaned back just as Alex reentered the room and sat down. “Interested in a movie?”

Alex nodded a little too quickly, and Mercedes smothered a smile. He‘d probably been worried that he would have to sit there and talk with them until they had finished eating.

“So what is this ‘Brigadoon’ about?” Puck asked, hitting the mute. “We have about two minutes before it starts, so give me a quick breakdown. Is it some chick flick?”

“It’s about two Americans who are hunting in Scotland when they literally run into a village that only appears for one day every two hundred years.”

Puck blinked at Mercedes. “That sounds stupid and absolutely improbable. What else is on?” He picked up the remote.

“Cyd Charisse is in it,” Alex said. “She’s pretty hot.”

“What do you know about hot chicks?” Puck teased.

Alex shrugged and said, “Gene Kelly and Van Johnson are in it. They’re both pretty hot too.”

“A little something for everyone,” Mercedes pointed out.

“And a little everything for me,” Puck added.

“He’s become unbearable since he realized he’s bi,” Mercedes stage whispered to Alex.

“He was unbearable _before_ he realized he was bi,” Alex pointed out. “Is it possible for him to become even _more_ unbearable?”

This was quickly becoming a huge day of firsts, Mercedes realized. The first time she had really acknowledged Kurt as Alex, the first time Alex had come home with them, the first time they’d all eaten together, the first time Alex had referenced their past. She wasn’t the only one to notice this last one, at least, because the room became a little uncomfortable until Puck turned up the volume.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m going to try it. But there better be some skin.”

It was Mercedes’ turn to share a grin with Alex.


	7. …Two Steps Back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will make much more sense if you've actually seen the movie "Brigadoon". If you haven't and want a quick rundown, try skimming the Wikipedia link here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brigadoon_%28film%29
> 
> This is a short, short chapter, so I'm thinking I'll post chapter 8 today too.

Chapter 7: …Two Steps Back?

“What the fuck?” Puck asked as the end credits appeared.

“So, what did you think?” Mercedes asked as if she hadn’t heard what Puck had just said.

“First of all, who the hell goes hunting in Scotland? Scotland? Really? I don’t know what grouse is, but they should have made it in Africa, where real hunters went back then. And Fiona should have been some luscious African woman named… I don’t know… Fanta or something.”

Mercedes frowned. “Isn’t that a soda?”

Puck sighed. “Please tell me, Aretha, that you’ve seen ‘Roots’.”

Mercedes looked a little uncomfortable.

“Holy shit! How is it that a nice, non-practicing Jew like myself has seen all five thousand hours of it, but you, a self-professed strong black woman hasn’t?” He looked at Alex. “As a young gay man whose name just reeks of German aryanism, you can be forgiven for not having seen it.”

“First of all,” Alex said with the feistiness that could only come from Kurt Hummel, “I too have seen all nine and a half hours of ‘Roots’. Secondly, there was no way they would’ve allowed interracial romance like that when ‘Brigadoon’ was made.” He seemed to think for a moment before adding, “Although I can see your point about hunting in Scotland.”

Puck smiled smugly at Mercedes and made a mental note to see if they had a used set of “Roots” at the bookstore that he could buy.

“Fine,” Mercedes sighed. “Ignoring those two facts, what did you think?”

“The music and dancing were okay, I guess, but I think the ending was stretching it. I mean, I can understand that a guy needs more than a day to make a decision to be stuck in a town like that, but I don’t buy that he loved her so much that it woke the dude.”

“It was romantic,” Mercedes insisted.

“It was unrealistic,” Puck insisted.

Mercedes glared at Puck and stood. “I’m going to get a refill.” She turned to Alex, ignoring Puck completely, which amused him to no end. “Alex, more water?”

“Thanks,” Alex said.

“Another beer’d be great,” Puck called out to her. He grinned at Alex. “She loves me.”

Alex smiled back, absently touching his strap.

“So where does this rank in your list of top musicals?” Puck teased.

“Actually, it never made the list.”

“Really?” Mercedes put down a bottle of cold water in front of Alex. “You don’t like the movie?”

“I love it; I just think that it’s a tragedy, not really a romance.”

“What do you mean?” Mercedes asked, handing Puck his beer. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, causing her to pull away and giggle before sitting back on the sofa.

Alex opened the bottle and took a sip before he sat properly in his chair, both feet planted on the floor. “Everyone pays attention to Tommy and Fiona, this simplistic romance that, as you pointed out, Puck, doesn’t really hold up under the most basic of scrutiny. I think the more compelling story is Jeff’s. He spends pretty much the entire movie drunk and bitter. So what happened to turn him that way? That’s gotta be an interesting story. Once they get to Scotland, Meg comes on to him, and he’s not interested? In the musical version, they make it pretty clear that he and Meg have a little romp, but in the movie, it’s like he doesn’t want anything to do with her. At all.”

“So what?” Mercedes asked.

Puck thought he was getting an idea of where Alex was going. “You’re saying Jeff was gay?”

Mercedes got a thoughtful look on her face.

Alex gave him a funny look but continued talking. “And then Jeff thinks he’s shooting grouse when he accidentally kills Harry, thereby saving the town. But when we see him again, he’s even drunker than before, even more bitter. Tommy gets his happily ever after, but all Jeff gets is to see who was probably his only friend go walking into the fog, never to be seen again. That’s where the story started getting good.”

Puck thought about it for a second. “You know, I would love to see a spinoff just about Jeff.”

“It wouldn’t be romantic,” Mercedes said.

“It could be,” Alex insisted.

“After a lengthy stay in rehab maybe,” Puck said, grinning.

“And look, Puck, you survived a musical without gratuitous sex and or nudity,” Mercedes teased.

Okay, Puck acknowledged that it might have been a bit unreasonable to expect some skin in a movie old enough to have Gene Kelly in it. That was his bad. However, he had not expected it to launch such thought from Alex. He didn’t love the movie, but he was glad watching it made Alex comfortable enough to stop nodding quietly and staring at the floor.

He wondered how long it would last.

“Okay, so next time, ‘Roots’ marathon,” Puck said.

“But it’s nine and a half hours,” Mercedes complained.

“It’s the history of your people. Suck it up,” Puck said. He turned to Alex. “You should be able to go another round if I can.”

Shaking his head, Alex said, “I can’t make it.”

“Let us know when you’re free, and we’ll make it work,” Mercedes said.

“I don’t… I work,” Alex muttered, hands tightening on his strap.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to come,” Puck said, disappointed that they hadn’t made as much headway as he had thought. He had been having a good time; he could tell Mercedes was enjoying it too and had thought that Alex was doing the same. He must have been reading Alex wrong.

“No, it’s not…” Alex took a breath. “I work everyday.”

“But you can only work forty hours a week,” Mercedes said. “It’s the law.”

If the mood had been lighter, Puck would have laughed at the look Alex tossed Mercedes’ way. “First of all, that only means that if he gets paid by the hour, he gets overtime after forty. Secondly, Alex works illegally. Who's he going to complain to?”

Alex shrugged. “Both places I work tend to hire family or people from their home towns or villages. They took a chance on me when they didn’t have to.”

“You work at both places seven days a week?” Mercedes asked.

“Only the restaurant. Alejandro is Catholic, so we’re off on Sundays.”

“Really?” Puck smiled.

Alex shrugged and smiled.

“That’s not right,” Mercedes said, getting upset.

Puck knew her protective instincts were coming to the foreground, and that was one of the things he loved about her, but now was not the time. Alex wasn’t ready for it.

“They’re doing me a favor,” Alex said. “I asked for more hours.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I need the money!” Instead of getting louder, Alex’s voice became quieter and yet stronger at the same time. For some reason, it worried Puck.

“What for? I hear you rent a room! How much could that cost?”

Alex stilled, his eyes hard and directed toward the wall just past Puck’s head. Hands clenched around the strap against his chest, he stood. His eyes bounced between Puck and Mercedes, but Puck could guarantee that he didn’t make eye contact with Mercedes, because he sure as hell wasn’t with Puck. “Thank you for dinner and the movie.”

“Kurt – Alex, wait!” Mercedes shouted, but he was already at the door, wrestling with the locks.

Puck walked over to the door slowly so that Alex would know that someone was invading his space. “Let me get those. These locks can be sticky.”

Alex stepped away from the door so Puck could slip closer and unlock the locks without touching him. After he finished, Puck opened the door.

Alex stepped out of the apartment, but Puck couldn’t let him go like that. He reached out a hand but dropped it, knowing it wouldn’t be welcome.

“Listen,” he said, slipping out of the door himself and leaving the door slightly ajar. “Mercedes came on a little strong in there at the end, but up until then, you were having a good time, right?”

Alex refused to respond.

“We’re your friends. It might take us a while to get used to the new you, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t trying.”

Alex looked in the direction of Puck’s mouth and said, anger gone in his voice, “You were friends with Kurt. You don’t even know me.”

“Give us a chance to get to know you.”

“Why?” Alex asked plaintively. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Puck knew that now was the time to say something devastatingly honest and so real that it would force Alex to acknowledge the strings that bound them together, but all he could come up with was the simple truth. “Because that’s not who we are.”


	8. Alex's Turn

Chapter 8: Alex’s Turn

After another aborted attempt to use the restroom – and he was pretty certain it was the same guy in there as before – Alex walked into his room and leaned against the closed door, surveying his castle. It was pathetic compared to Puck and Mercedes’ apartment, but this one was all his, and it was a far cry from living on the street. Thanks to Momma Cass, his bed was now made with two sheets and a blanket. The day before, he had lucked out and found a pillow and a lamp in a pile of trash where someone had obviously moved. He’d almost had to take down a guy in business suit for the lamp, but he’d won it. He needed to buy a light bulb (fingers crossed that the lamp actually worked) and wash the pillow (fingers crossed again that it didn’t have lice). He didn’t intend on going through the whole delousing process yet again, not when his hair was just starting to grow back. All that, and he’d have a nice bedroom area. A towel had joined the washcloth on the rack, again thanks to Momma Cass. He also had to buy a bar of soap; right now, he only had a sliver that he’d snagged from the restaurant’s trashcan. It had been much larger, but he’d used his shiv to slice off the part that had touched the actual can. He had also made a mental wish list that included first and foremost some lotion for his hands, which were beginning to feel a little raw after all its abuse. Next on the list was a trashcan, and maybe later he could find a small, affordable rug for beside his bed. Eventually, he thought he might be able to buy a few more items of clothing, but that was a ways out. Rent was always first, so he figured that any money he had for the first few days after he paid rent he could use toward some of that stuff. Then he had to start saving up for the next month’s rent. He was hoping to sock some money away for emergencies.

He sat on his bed, relaxing his feet after ten hours washing dishes, and flipped through the partial paperback he’d found on the subway on his way back from Puck and Mercedes’ apartment. For days afterwards, he’d been on the alert, constantly looking over his shoulder, worried that he’d find one or the other standing there, trying to force him to move in with them. Now he was slowly trying to relax his guard, but Puck’s final words kept sliding through his head. 

“That’s not who we are.” As much as he’d tried to forget it, he knew very well who they were, because he used to be one of them. They had the same never-say-die mentality that kept glee going through all of the ridicule and slushies; it was no surprise that that attitude would bleed into the rest of their lives.

He should’ve been relieved when his days settled back into a routine without Puck or Mercedes, but part of him felt a tinge of disappointment, and that confused him. He couldn’t go back, and they were part of his past. Logically, he should have forgotten about them and kept focusing on surviving another day.

Tossing the paperback aside, he put his shoes and hoodie back on, grabbing enough money from his stash for a Metrocard – he didn’t like skipping the fare unless he absolutely had to.

A short time later, Momma Cass opened the door to find Alex standing there, hands tucked into his jeans.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering… um, is Marcel around?”

To her credit, Momma Cass didn’t even lift an eyebrow as she stepped back to allow Alex entrance. “He’s around here somewhere. Let’s get you settled, and I’ll have him meet you in the office.”

Automatically, Alex pulled out all of his weapons and put them in a cloth bag he’d fished out of the trash and started using after he’d accidentally left his bag. This way, he could keep his cloth bag strapped against him inside the shelter.

Momma Cass led him to the office with a promise that Marcel would be with him soon.

Alex perched uneasily on the edge of the chair opposite the desk and looked around. He’d only been in the office once or twice; Momma Cass tended to use it for discussions that needed to happen in private. The room was small, fitting the desk, two chairs, and a file cabinet snugly. There was no window, so the place felt a little stifling, but it was sparse for a reason. This room had been home to many chats that ended up physical.

“Alex, my man!” Marcel walked inside the room, immediately filling it. He closed the door, and Alex had to fight the urge to press himself against the far wall.

“You said once that I could come if I needed to…talk,” he said lamely, regretting his decision to do this. “But if you’re busy, I could…” he gestured toward the door, half hoping Marcel would let him go.

“It’s all good,” Marcel said, squeezing behind the desk and sitting in the chair. He leaned back, giving Alex a little more breathing room. “How can I help?”

Now that he was here, he didn’t know how to start. He sat there a few seconds, just staring dumbly at Marcel’s chin.

Marcel gave a small smile. “Is this about Mercedes and Noah?”

“Yes... No... Kind of?”

“I remember the first time Momma Cass came to see me. I had all these emotions coursing through me; I think I was mostly embarrassed and angry. Suddenly my two lives intersected, and it was really confusing.”

Alex nodded. “We went to their apartment and ate food from the restaurant. And then we watched a movie.”

After a long pause, Marcel asked, “ And how was that?”

“It was okay, until it wasn’t.” He thought back. “The food was good. Puck paid for it.”

“And that bothered you?”

Alex lifted a shoulder. “A little bit. And then we took a cab to their apartment in Brooklyn, and Puck paid for that too. I didn’t have any money to give them to help out.”

“How did it feel hanging out with them?”

“Strange. They have a sofa and a coffee table. Their television is really big.”

Marcel laughed. “What did you watch?”

“We watched ‘Brigadoon’. We talked about it afterward. That part was nice.”

“When did it stop being okay?”

“Mercedes made fun of my room.” Alex felt the hurt well up inside him again. He’d worked so hard for that room, worried that he’d get rolled before he could save enough, ate food from trashcans and dumpsters instead of buying anything. He’d risked getting caught by the cops by jumping turnstiles. He couldn’t remember ever feeling the satisfaction and happiness as when he walked into that room and took the keys from the landlord. In seconds, Mercedes had mocked everything he’d done to make that happen.

“Did you explain to her how hard you had to work to be able to afford it?”

Alex just stared at him.

Marcel sighed and leaned back. “Sorry, kind of a stupid question, wasn’t it? Let me guess. You got pissed off and hurt and left.”

Of course that was what he did. His let his expression show how he felt about that.

“On the streets, the less you say, the safer you are. But that’s not how it works everywhere else. Do you remember how you used to share with your friends?”

Alex felt pressure in his chest. “That was the past. I don’t think about the past.”

“Okay,” Marcel said, backing off. “How does Mercedes pay for the apartment?”

“She and Puck have a roommate.”

“But I’m sure she has to pay for her part of the rent. How does she do that? Where does she get her money?”

Alex thought back and realized he didn’t know if Mercedes had a job. “Maybe… maybe her parents?”

“But you don’t know, right? You could assume, that since she’s in college, her parents are footing the bill. You could say something about how it would be nice to have parents to help pay for college.

“But maybe, maybe, she has to work two jobs to pay for her portion of the rent and has a scholarship helping her with her tuition. You might have accidentally hurt her feelings and not even known it, because you didn’t know her life.

“Mercedes has never been homeless. She’s never had to deal with the kinds of life or death situations that come from being on the streets, and she can’t even ask specific questions, because you don’t know what you don’t know.” He leaned his elbows on the desk. “Do you think she meant to hurt your feelings or mock you?”

“No.” Alex knew Mercedes wasn’t trying to be mean.

“The only way for her to understand is for you to explain it to her. I know having to open up like that goes against every code you’ve been living with, but you’ve already taken some big, positive steps. You’ve gotten your own place. You voluntarily went with Puck and Mercedes and spent time in their company. Opening up is another step forward.”

Alex just couldn’t picture talking about himself like that. To anyone.

“Think baby steps,” Marcel said, reading his mind. “Talk about something small, like maybe one day at work. Or talk about your morning. You don’t have to spout theories about nature versus nurture or how you feel about corporal punishment. Just share a little. Get a feel for it again.”

“Not to Mercedes.” He knew she wasn’t mean, but that didn’t mean that her words didn’t still hurt.

“What about Noah?” Marcel suggested. “It looked like you two were carrying on a good conversation on Thanksgiving while you were handing out blankets.”

Alex thought back to that day, still surprised at how much he’d enjoyed Puck’s company. They’d never been all that close, and out of anyone he knew, he would have thought Puck would have been the one to make hurtful comments, but not once did he say anything that made Alex upset.

“He talked about himself a lot. Figured out where I work.”

“The restaurant?”

Alex shook his head, and Marcel laughed. “How did he feel about that?”

Alex shrugged. When Marcel didn’t ask another question, he volunteered, “He told me that he’s in a band and works at a bookstore.” He paused, debating about the other thing, but then he remembered it was Puck, who didn’t seem to have any private thoughts. “Said he was bisexual.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Of course not. It’s just that I never thought he’d like anyone other than girls.”

“People change,” Marcel reminded him.

Alex nodded. He was kind of the poster child for that.

“So maybe you could open up a little to him, see how it goes. Remember, baby steps.”

Alex nodded, standing up. “Thanks… for this.” He gestured around the room with the hand not holding on to his strap.

“Anytime,” Marcel said, smiling and standing. “Seriously. Anytime.”

Alex walked out of the shelter feeling much lighter.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck walked out of the busy bookstore, his head lowered so he wouldn’t have to deal with customers asking if he worked there – never mind that he had on his hat, coat, and bag. There were some days when he was on fire, found pretty much every book that he looked for, dealt with polite customers, and generally enjoyed himself.  
This wasn’t one of those days. He couldn’t seem to find anything, including the books that were on displays right in front of him. Almost every customer was either pissed off or in a rush too, thereby upping the ante. He got that they were now dealing with holiday shoppers, but wasn’t Christmas supposed a time of goodwill? He’d had to reign in his temper a few times.

Now all he wanted to do was go home, change into something ratty and bummy, and go out for a drink. Maybe find someone looking for relaxation and a little fun so he could wash away the day.

He was so deep into his thoughts that he almost missed the softly spoken, “Puck” as he walked out the doors and made a left. He stopped, looked around, and almost missed Alex leaning against a building. He wondered how long it took for Alex to be able to do that, to just blend in so well that no one noticed him.

“Hey,” he smiled. He’d had to fight the urge to return to Queens, convince Momma Cass or one of her sons to help Puck find Alex again. He’d wanted to return to the restaurant, but he didn’t want to get Alex in trouble at work. He figured that Alex needed some time, so he’d decided to wait until the next day he was off to try to find him. But here Alex was, seeking him out. Suddenly his day had gotten much better. “Figured it was your turn to catch me at work?” Alex shrugged, and Puck walked closer, having to focus more on Alex’s face because of the hoodie. He could see the indecision written in Alex’s eyes and figured it must have really taken a lot for him to actively seek Puck out. “You have some time? Wanna do something?”

Alex’s eyes moved around the area, and Puck remembered that he didn’t have a lot of money. Actually, neither did Puck. Acting like a big shot, paying for the meal and the cab ride had put a bit of a dent in his finances. He didn’t regret it; he was just going to have to tighten his belt a bit. He thought he saw Alex waffling, like he was regretting his decision to visit Puck, and Puck knew he had to seal the deal before it was too late. “Mercedes is going to be out late rehearsing, which means that we have total control over the television.” He thought a second. “And the fridge. I think she has some ice cream left from her binge the other night.” Tilting his head toward the subway station, he said, “C’mon,” and started walking, hoping Alex would follow along. After a few seconds, he felt a presence beside him and grinned. His grin grew wider when Alex offered him a tentative smile back.

Puck regaled Alex with some of his stranger stories from the bookstore, and he gave himself a mental pat on the back when he got Alex to laugh. It was silent, but his shoulders shook, so Puck decided it counted. Every so often he caught people eyeballing the two of them, but Alex didn’t seem to notice, and Puck didn’t care.

Once they arrived home, Puck told Alex to make himself at home. He’d decided he was hungry, so he was going to see what he could throw together. He felt more than saw Alex follow him towards the kitchen, turning to find the thin man sitting on one of the bar stools on the outside side of the island. He smiled to let him know that he was happy for the company and proceeded to dig into the fridge, pulling out anything he thought could go good in a sandwich. By the time he finished, he had a nice pile of veggies, luncheon meat, and condiments on the island. He held out two loaves of bread. “White or wheat?”

“Wheat,” Alex said. “Please.”

Puck laid out the bread on plates and went through each vegetable. “Lettuce? Tomatoes? Onions?” He stopped and laughed. “Maybe I should be working at Subway.” They went through the rest of the vegetables and condiments until they had two huge sandwiches in front of them.

Puck dug up some chips and sodas, and they took their food into the living room.  
“What do you want to watch? It doesn’t have to be sports,” Puck said. Kurt had never been into sports, not even during his stint on the football team, and Puck doubted that Alex had spent any of his time while he was homeless suddenly falling in love with them.

Alex shrugged. “I haven’t been watching much television, so whatever you want to watch is fine.”

Puck turned it to one of the 24-hour sports channels but kept the volume low and sat down on the sofa. He made sure to stay on his end of the sofa, but he’d been thinking about how much body space Alex kept around him. He’d heard something about Alex freaking out when Momma Cass tried to hug him, and while he’d never really known Hummel to be much a toucher, he knew that people needed that personal connection, Alex needed that connection. But it wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight, so Puck came up with his plan. It involved stealth and patience, not his two areas of expertise, but he figured he’d give it a go. He also wanted to get to know Alex a little better, but he didn’t want to spook him. “I’m glad you remembered where I work. I wanted to come see you again, but I didn’t want to pressure you or get you into trouble.”

“I wasn’t sure… but I talked to Marcus,” Alex said. He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it.

“I’m going to have to send that mountain of a man a gift basket,” Puck teased. “Seriously, what is he? Seven foot tall?” That got another smile out of Alex as he bit into his sandwich. “So how’s the new place?”

“Momma Cass gave me some sheets, a blanket, and a towel,” Alex said, his face turning pink.

Puck wasn’t sure what to say about that. He wanted them to be able to talk about anything, and erasing the bitterness of that last conversation was top on his list in the moments when he thought about what he wanted to talk with Alex in their next conversation. He decided to go with positive. “That’s great. So it’s shaping up well, then.”

“It’s just a room,” Alex said.

“But it’s your room, man. I get it.” And he did. He wasn’t sure why, because while he’d had his issues, he’d always had a roof over his head and food on the table. But he could see how, after living with nothing, having a safe, warm place could mean everything.

“Each floor has to share a bathroom.”

Puck braced himself. “Is yours nasty? My coworkers can’t even keep our private bathroom clean, and my band… they’re disgusting.” He decided not to mention how much Mercedes ragged on him and Thomas about their bathroom habits, but keeping the toilet seat up probably wasn’t the worst of Alex’s problems.

“I don’t know. It’s always occupied.” Alex got a funny look on his face. “I think by the same guy.”

Puck laughed. “Is he living in there?”

“It’s either that, or he has the worst digestion ever.” Alex chuckled and then stopped, as if surprised at himself.

“So what do you do when you have to pee?”

“I have a sink.” The look on Alex’s face said how he felt about it. “I don’t have anything to clean it with, yet, though, so…”

“Dude, you have to do what you have to do.” He looked around the apartment. “I’m only here, because I knew Mercedes and had good timing. I didn’t earn any of this, and there was no way I could afford an apartment by myself with how much I make at the bookstore.”

“You seem to like working there,” Alex said.

“I do. I get a discount, so I’ve really been reading. It’s actually getting kind of ridiculous. Check this out.” He put his plate on the coffee table, walked the few steps to his room, and opened the door, letting Alex, who’d followed him, look inside and see the piles of books littering the room. “I’d tell you that it’s not usually that messy, but I’d be lying.”

“What do the girls – and guys – you bring home say about that?” Alex asked, returning to his sandwich.

“I never bring people home. This is my haven.” He sat down and considered his question before deciding what the hell and saying, “So, we met Chase the other day. Did you two, you know, date?”

Alex looked shocked. “No! He did help me, though. I was so lost, and I wouldn’t have made it a week if he hadn’t chosen to take me under his wing and show me how to survive on the streets. At the time, I didn’t understand how big a deal it was. People aren’t… generous like he was to strangers. I saw it, people killing each other over a particular spot in the alley, people getting shanked, because of the chance that they might have something valuable. He’s the reason I’m still here.”

“You feel like you owe him?” Puck asked.

“I owe him my life,” Alex said, leaning forward and speaking so earnestly that Puck couldn’t take his eyes away.

“He didn’t look so good when we saw him.” Puck watched Alex lean back, the emotion in his eyes replaced by a mask. “Momma Cass said he’d had a dog.”

A corner of Alex’s mouth rose as he swallowed a chip. “Mustafa. He was an awesome dog, smart, sweet, and totally protective. People couldn’t even raise their voices around Chase without Mustafa getting upset.”

“How’d he die?”

Shrugging, Alex said, “We don’t know. He stopped eating, started acting strange. Chase and I pooled our money, begged some, and took him to the vet, but it was too late.” He sat back, arms loose on his lap, staring at the television. “That’s when he just… gave up.” Alex shook his head a little and grabbed another chip. “He started using again the next day.”

“What’s his drug of choice?”

“Meth,” Alex sighed, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his head. “I think that’s how he ended up on the street to begin with. Somehow, he kicked the habit before we met, and one of the things he really leaned on me about was never, ever taking drugs. Not even once. He said that it might seem like a great idea to escape our lives for as long as it took to keep your buzz, but there was always a cost. But after Mustafa died, he just lost his will. He used to do hot rails; now I think he’s slamming.”

Puck wasn’t certain about what hot rails and slamming meant, but he made a mental note to look them up first chance he got. “What if you got him another dog?”

“Momma Cass tried that, but losing Mustafa took too much away from him. You get your heart ripped out, all you have left is a hole.”

Puck didn’t know this guy, and the story was pretty sad, but he was more worried about how this would affect Alex. If Chase didn’t make it, would Alex fall into a hole too? He made a mental note to ask Momma Cass to keep him updated on this Chase kid.

Refocusing his thoughts, he threw back the last of his soda and grabbed his empty plate. He noticed that Alex had only eaten a few bites of his sandwich and about half his chips. “Still eating, or do you want to pack it up to take back to your place? I think Aretha hid some chocolate chip cookies around here somewhere. It’ll be perfect for desert.”

“Won’t she get angry at us for eating all of her food?”

“Naw,” Puck said, grabbing Alex’s plate and taking it with his into the kitchen. He wrapped Alex’s food up with plastic wrap and put it in a plastic bag before searching the cupboards. “She buys two boxes knowing that I’ll probably eat one of them.”

Alex tilted his head, obviously confused.

“She doesn’t know I know she does it,” Puck confided with a conspiratorial grin. He opened the door to a small cabinet right above the ceiling. It was so high that he was on his toes and had to stretch to reach in and grab the box. “Here we go!”

“You think she hid those way up there?” Alex asked.

“She couldn’t very well make it too easy for me, could she?” Noticing a light film of dust on the box, he checked the date to make sure it hadn’t been forgotten and was really old. It didn't really matter to him; he'd eaten some pretty disgusting things on dares alone, but he wanted better for Alex. Once he confirmed that they were still within the allotted freshness date, he opened it and slid out the plastic. “Help yourself. We also have milk.” He grabbed two glasses and filled them with the cold white liquid. “Grab the whole box.”

They sat down, and while Puck remained on his side of the sofa, he edged a little closer to Alex using the glasses of milk and sharing the box of cookies as an excuse. He couldn’t tell if Alex noticed, but he knew he had to be super casual about it all.

Alex took a cookie and took an experimental bite. His eyes brightened. “These are really good.”

Puck looked suspiciously at the box. It was the kind Mercedes usually bought, and while they were tasty, they weren’t homemade or anything and didn’t merit the kind of attention Alex was doting upon them. Taking a cookie of his own, he asked casually, “When was the last time you had a chocolate chip cookie?”

Intent on inhaling his cookie and gulping down half a glass of milk, Alex muttered, “Not sure. It’s been a while.”

Puck gave up on eating the cookies himself, instead choosing to sit back and watch Alex excitedly devour not only the entire box of cookies but both glasses of milk. He’d never enjoyed not eating a box of cookies so much.


	9. Sleepover

Chapter 9: Sleepover

Mentally and physically exhausted, Mercedes trudged up the stairs to her apartment. It was after midnight, and she’d been up since seven. Her boring intro classes seemed to go on forever, and as a freshman, she had to be on the stage crew. They let her audition – those were always open – but it was known that you could be the best in the room and you still wouldn’t get cast. It was all about paying dues and becoming a team player. She felt that all that time dealing with Rachel should have given her a bump over the other freshman. Instead, she was painting sets, putting together furniture, setting lights as she watched the upperclassmen rehearse. She wasn’t used to such physical labor, but she was kind of enjoying herself. Not that she’d admit it to anyone.

Trudging up the stairs, she was looking forward to drinking the hot chocolate she’d bought from the espresso bar on her way home and eating some of the cookies she’d stashed. Maybe she’d run herself a bubble bath. Thomas was either off doing his ROTC thing somewhere or out with his girlfriend, and Puck had gotten off early at work, so she was sure he was either at some club or already in the bedroom of a gorgeous stranger.

She unlocked the door, surprised at the low murmur of the television. Opening her mouth to shout out her presence, she almost screamed when Puck popped out of the kitchen to stand right in front of her.

“Shh,” Puck said quietly, hand over her mouth.

“Get your hand off my mouth,” she mumbled, it sounding like, “gt hnd ffmth.”

Puck seemed to understand and lowered his hand as he took a step back.

“What’s going on?” She whispered.

“Alex is asleep on the sofa,” Puck answered. “I don’t want to wake him.”

“What’s he doing here?” Mercedes pulled off her bag and let Puck help her with her coat, hanging both up on the rack by the door before following Puck into the kitchen.

“He was waiting for me when I got off work.”

“How did he know where you worked?”

“I told him when we were grabbing the blankets for Momma Cass,” he explained.

“But how did he know what time you were getting off tonight?”

“I don’t think he did.” Puck looked over the island into the living room for a moment before returning his focus to Mercedes. “He was freezing and shaking right outside the door. I have no idea how long he’d been there.”

Disappointment washed over her. She’d wanted Alex to come to her, to choose to spend time with her, not with Puck. And then she felt guilty for being so petty. She should be happy that Alex was there, with them, that he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in their home. It wasn’t about her; it was about Alex. So she plastered a smile on her face and willed herself to just be happy for him. “Now that we have him, how do we keep him?”

Puck chuckled. “He’ll probably wake up and try to rush out of here, but let’s see if we can get him into the shower. He shares a communal bathroom with everyone on his floor, and he’s never managed to make it in there. If anything’ll keep him here, it’ll be the promise of a hot shower and a working toilet.”

Mercedes thought longingly of her plans. “I was going to take a hot shower tonight myself.”

“Go for it,” Puck said. “It’s not as though you have to be worried about your virtue or anything. He might have changed his name, but I’m sure his orientation is still the same.”

Mercedes had to grin at that.

“Just don’t go singing at the top of your lungs, and we’ll be fine.”

“Let me just get my cookies.” She took a step toward the kitchen, but Puck stopped her, waving an empty box in her face. She snatched it from his hands and glared at him.

“Hey.” He held up his hands. “I only had one. Your boy in there made like a hoover and sucked them all up – along with two glasses of milk.”

A little disappointed, she took her hot chocolate and went to take her bath.

Submerging herself, she closed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts. _Alex, Alex, Alex,_ she chanted in her head. She’d been doing it religiously since her last slip, determined not to do it again. She was also determined not to push so hard; it was just that pushing was part of who she was.

She reached for her cell phone on the toilet seat and looked for the number she needed. Hitting send, she put the phone to her ear and waited.

“Hello.”

“Hi, it’s Mercedes. I know it’s late, and… is this a bad time?”

“Mercedes, it’s good to hear from you.”

“You said I could call you if I need to talk?”

“I meant it. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not any one thing. I mean, Alex is asleep right now on our sofa, so I know he’s warm and safe, it’s just…”

“It’s just…” the voice prompted.

“He was waiting for Puck at the bookstore when Puck got off work,” she explained. “And that’s great, but…”

“But you’re upset that he didn’t come to see you.”

“I know; it’s petty.”

“It’s human.”

“I’ll get over it,” she decided. “What I need to focus on is how to stop… alienating him. It seems like every chance I get to talk to Alex, I push and push until he pushes back and leaves. It starts out well and ends with him upset.” She sighed. “All my life, I’ve been taught to keep pushing until I get what I want, and now that it’s second nature, it’s become the one thing that keeps me from getting what I want!”

“What are you pushing for?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want?”

“I… I want…”

“Maybe the problem isn’t the pushing, it’s that you don’t know what you want from the situation. Do you want your old friend back? Do you want to get to know Alex? Figuring out what you want is the first step. Maybe it’ll get easier after that.”

Mercedes slid down further into the water. “Maybe I’ll just have more questions.”

Marcel laughed, the deep voice making her feel as warm as her bath water. “But at least they’ll be different questions.”

Laughing, Mercedes said, “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. Have a good night.”

“You too.” Mercedes hung up, laying her phone on the toilet, and sliding back down into her bath.

What did she want? She practiced saying Alex all the time in her head, but what she really wanted was Kurt back. She had to practice, because it didn’t feel real to her. It was more like an exercise in one of her acting classes. Maybe that was why Puck had such an easier time with things. He just accepted. But to be fair, he didn’t know Kurt like Mercedes did. Kurt hadn’t been Puck’s best friend, hadn’t had sleepovers and pity parties; Kurt hadn’t cried on Puck’s shoulder or let Puck snuggle with him when his heart was broken. Mercedes wasn’t ready to let go of Kurt and her memories.

She sighed as she reminded herself that it wasn’t her choice. She didn’t get to choose between Kurt or Alex. No, the choice she got to make was whether she wanted Alex in her life or not. If she wanted Alex, she had to let go of her hope for Kurt. If she didn’t, all she would have would be memories of someone she used to know.

She wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek and pulled out the stopper, mind set, resolve made.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Kurt sighed and rolled over, content and comfortable. The alarm hadn’t rung yet, so he didn’t have to get up and get ready for another horrific day at McKinley High. He could continue to snuggle in his bed and listen to his father’s movements upstairs, the pull of the refrigerator door as his dad opened it, the creak from the floor as he went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

It was little moments like this, when the world was still, and he could imagine that the world was filled with just him and his dad, that he was perfectly happy.

Relishing in the feel for just one more moment, he turned to look at the clock… and found himself looking at a strange television. For a few seconds, his eyes trailed around the unfamiliar room, trying to figure out where he was, and then suddenly the last two years came whooshing back to him, and all that he’d been pushing away came rushing at him all at once. He had no defense against it; he could only hold on to the pillow as the memories pushed through him.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck wasn’t sure what woke him up; he was a heavy sleeper, so usually it would take something along the lines of a 4.0 earthquake or Mercedes vacuuming the walls. But this time, he rolled over with the sense of wrong. He slid out of bed and suddenly remembered leaving Alex asleep on the sofa. He ran out to the living room, finding Alex still there. His relief was short-lived; however, once he realized that instead of still sleeping, Alex was shaking, his back toward Puck. Puck walked up to the sofa, arm outstretched, but he hesitated to actually touch. According to his plan, it was too soon. However, he hadn’t planned on seeing Alex in so much pain. He wasn’t sure what to do.

He heard Mercedes’ door open and turned to her, gesturing toward the sofa with a “what-do-we-do? expression on his face.

Biting her lip, Mercedes walked over to stand beside Puck and look down at Alex, who was gasping and crying into his pillow. She sat down by his feet and started to sing softly. Puck wasn’t familiar with the song, but he sat down on the floor by Mercedes’ feet, resting an arm on her knees.

After a few minutes, the shaking lessened, the sobs quieted, and Alex lay still. Because his face was still buried in the back of the sofa and in the pillow, Puck couldn’t tell if Alex were awake or had fallen back asleep. He looked up at Mercedes, who was still singing and tilted his head toward Alex, mouthing, “Is he still asleep?”

Mercedes leaned a little closer for a better look, but after a few seconds, she relaxed and shrugged a shoulder.

Puck figured that if Alex were awake, he’d be embarrassed at showing so much emotion in front of people, and he’d hide in that sofa for as long as he could. Deciding that action was preferable to sitting there doing nothing, Puck rose and went into the kitchen, preheating the oven before heading over to the fridge.

Every few months, Puck got the itch to bake; this last time, he’d made rugelach, freezing half the batch for a later time. The night before, he put them in the fridge to defrost, wanting to feed them to Alex for breakfast. Uncertain to his preference, Puck had put a batch of the apricot-filled and a batch of the chocolate in the fridge. He knew he, Mercedes, and Thomas loved both, so whatever Alex didn’t eat wouldn’t go to waste.

He started the coffee and put the pastries on a cooking sheet. The coffee was ready by the time he slid the rugelach into the oven, and he poured three cups. He doused his and Mercedes’ but left Alex’s black. Putting them on a small tray with some milk and sugar and a couple of spoons, he took them out to the living room, where he found Mercedes sitting quietly, watching the television turned low.

“He’s awake,” she mouthed, raising her hands and shoulders in an imitation of Puck’s earlier questioning moves.

“So,” Puck said, injecting enthusiasm into his voice, “who’s up for coffee? Aretha, I made it just like you like it.”

“Thanks,” Mercedes said, taking her cup.

“Alex, I wasn’t sure how you like yours, so I left it black. We have sugar, milk, and some hazelnut syrup left over from one of our parties.”

“Isn’t that old?” Mercedes asked.

Puck shrugged. “It still looks okay.” He turned to the sofa. “Alex? We also have orange juice and water.” He waited, holding his breath.

After a few seconds, Alex moved, slowly rolled over, and sat up. “Coffee is good, thanks, ” he said, his voice raspy. He reached for the cup.

Puck put the tray on the coffee table. “Help yourself to sugar and milk.”

Without hesitation, Alex poured in a generous amount of milk and proceeded to almost empty the sugar container into his cup.

“What time do you have to be at work this morning?” Puck asked.

“It’s Sunday, right?” Alex looked for their nods before continuing. “I only work at the restaurant today. I go in the afternoons.”

“So, like, noon?” Mercedes asked, looking at her watch.

“I don’t have a set time,” Alex said.

“Do you have a watch?” Mercedes asked, making Puck notice Alex’s bare wrists.

Alex shook his head. “The bank around the corner from my room has one of those digital things on the outside, and during the week, I just leave my first job and go straight to the restaurant.”

“I guess it would be dangerous to have a watch on the street?” Mercedes asked.

Alex nodded.

“Don’t drink all your coffee yet. Hold on.” Puck headed back into the kitchen, tossed the rugelach on to a serving dish, and headed back into the living room. He wasn’t sure what worried him more about leaving Alex and Mercedes alone, that they’d get into an argument or that he’d miss some good discussion. He put down the platter with a flourish.

“Ooh, rugelach!” Mercedes pressed her palms together. “Which is which?”

“The chocolate is over here, the apricot is on the right.”

“Puck made these, and he always freezes some so we can eat them whenever we want,” Mercedes said. “He’s a terrific baker.”

Alex got a look on his face but said nothing as he took a chocolate. He bit into it, and Puck tried to gauge his reaction. “What do you think?”

“This is really good,” Alex said, smiling at him.

He wanted to make a smart-assed comment about how he no longer added pot to his dishes, but he didn’t want to bring up the past, especially since he didn’t know what had caused Alex to get so upset earlier. He hoped Mercedes wouldn’t go barreling in like she usually did, but so far, she’d kept her questions to herself.

“We still have some frozen ones left. I’ll pack some up for you.”

Alex shook his head. “I appreciate it, but I don’t have a place for them.”

“It’ll be a small package. If you have one of those small refrigerators, you can just refrigerate them. You’ll just have to eat them sooner rather than later.”

“My place doesn’t have a refrigerator,” Alex said, eyeballing the apricot pile.

“Help yourself,” Puck said.

Alex took an apricot and drank some of his coffee before diving in.

“We’ll just wrap up some of these, and you can eat them as-is or you can heat them up. A microwave works if you don’t have a stove,” Puck said. He saw a shift in Alex’s eyes. “Do you have a microwave or a stove?”

Alex paused a moment before shaking his head.

Mercedes opened her mouth, and Puck tried to get her attention to warn her with his eyes about being careful, but she was completely focused on Alex. “Then we’ll only give you a few of them, and it’ll give Puck an excuse to make more for the next time you visit us.” She smiled sunnily at him, and he gave her a small grin back.

Puck sat back in his chair, relieved.

Mercedes’ alarm went off, and she scuttled into her room to turn it off.

“She must have to go in today,” Puck explained.

“Where does she work?”

“She volunteers at some of the theaters around here, I’m not sure which ones. She says something about being around the theater is good for her or whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “She was talking. A lot.”

Alex grinned.

“I have to go. I bathed last night, so Alex, you can take the shower after I brush my teeth and wash my face, okay?” She disappeared before Alex could do more than open his mouth.

“She’s like a force of nature,” Puck said, standing. “More coffee,” he suggested, putting all three mugs on the tray without waiting for an answer and walking into the kitchen. He heard the soft sound of feet padding behind him but continued as if he thought he was alone. He poured Mercedes’ in a to go cup, topped off his mug, and refilled Alex’s before Alex spoke.

“I should be going.”

“At least finish off your coffee and have your shower,” Puck said, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. He looked at the clock on the microwave. “It’s only a little after ten, so they shouldn’t be expecting you for a while, right?” He turned and gave one of his patented, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smiles as he handed Alex his mug and allowed Alex to lead the way back into the living room.

Puck let Alex sit first before taking Mercedes’ spot on the sofa. He used putting sugar and milk in his mug as an excuse to move in slightly so he was right next to his friend. They weren’t touching, but Puck could feel Alex’s body heat and sense his presence. He knew he was pushing it a little, but he figured he could gauge Alex’s reaction and then back off if needed.

Alex seemed to shift a little uncomfortably, so Puck grabbed a chocolate rugelach and casually scooted a little further away, leaning back and taking a sip of his coffee.  
“Okay, the bathroom’s all yours,” Mercedes said, throwing herself in a chair as she put on her shoes. “I put a clean towel and wash cloth on the toilet seat – this one,” she nodded toward Puck, “probably only has the threadbare ones he brought with him when he moved up here, and they’re probably in a pile on the floor in his room.”

“I don’t need – ” Alex started.

“The shower head is amazing! I would have moved into a really crappy apartment just for that shower head,” Mercedes said, rolling right over Alex’s tentative words.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your sex secrets to yourself. You know how they gross me out,” Puck teased.

“First of all, ewww,” Mercedes shot back, zipping up her shoes, “and secondly, you’d love to hear about my sex secrets.”

“Maybe,” he shot back, holding out her travel mug.

“I love you,” she muttered, giving him an air kiss as she took it. She looked at Alex. “Love you too. See you soon.”

And she was gone, leaving a stunned Alex in her wake.

“What I’d say? Force of nature.” Puck pulled himself off the sofa. “Be right back.” Ignoring the towel on his floor, he found a clean, long-sleeved t-shirt that was on the small side and a pair of boxers that his mom had sent him that were still in the package (she refused to acknowledge the existence of boxer briefs, much less buy them for her son) and brought them out, tossing them beside Alex. “Here you go. I hate putting dirty clothes back on after taking a shower.”

“But – ”

“The shirt’s too small, and mom won’t buy me boxer briefs, so I keep getting these in the mail.” He rolled his eyes. Throwing back the last of his coffee, he put the mug on the coffee table. “I’m gonna go get dressed. Take as long as you want in the shower. Mercedes is right; that shower head’ll blow your mind.” He turned and walked into his room, grabbing a book and throwing himself on his bed. He propped the book on his knee and pretended to read, but he was focused on any and all movement in the living room.

Eventually he heard Alex get up, and he leaned forward, listening intently. He heard some ruffling but didn’t relax until he heard the bathroom door close. He grinned and turned his book right side up as he heard the shower start running.


	10. Puck Invites Himself

Chapter 10: Puck Invites Himself

Alex’s first thought when he stepped into the shower was that Mercedes was the master of understatement. The heat from the water, the force of the spray, the spray pattern… all it created a feeling of such bliss that he wasn’t capable of doing more than just standing there and enjoying it. He lost track of time, but eventually, he thought to turn around, and the massage on his back was even more fantastic. He wanted to move into this bathroom, he wanted to marry this bathroom and have many baby bathrooms with it. Turning back around, he put his face into the spray and let it caress his skin, embracing the almost painful needle pricks.

He tried to remember the last time he took a shower, and he figured it to be right after the lice outbreak at that shelter, which, funny enough, had been the fault of one of the volunteers. They’d shaved everyone’s heads and then made them shower and shave off the rest of their body hair. He’d refused to shave his eyebrows, so they’d given him a small comb and some nasty shampoo, and he’d had to spend a little longer in the shower than the others. That shower was in a large communal room, filled with mostly older men, and he’d felt exposed and uncomfortable. All he’d wanted to do was get clean and get out.

But this… they said he could stay in here as long as he wanted, and he wanted to stay in here forever. However, he still had a job to get to, and he knew there was such a thing overstaying a welcome. He grabbed the soap and washcloth and started with his arms.

Eventually, the water cooled, and Alex finally turned off the shower. His skin was pruny, his belly full, and he was warm and getting ready to put on clean clothes. He was a lucky man indeed.

After drying and hanging the towel and wash cloth over the shower rack, he pulled on the boxers, which were big for him, and the long-sleeved t-shirt, which wasn’t, and sat on the toilet, relishing the feel of clean. He pulled the neck of the shirt to his nose and inhaled, smelling Puck. He liked the smell, liked that he was wearing it close to him.

Sighing, he stood and put back on his jeans, balled up his dirty shirt and underwear, and shoved them into his bag. He threw his bag across his shoulders and opened the door, leaving the bathroom in a wave of steam.

“Awesome shower, right?” Puck asked from the sofa.

Alex nodded.

“You ready to go?”

Alex looked around.

“Your jacket’s by the door,” Puck reminded him.

“Then I’m ready.”

Alex didn’t realize that Puck was leaving as well until they were both putting on their jackets. He also didn’t realize that Puck was going with him until they stood in front of the same platform. “Where’re you going?”

Puck shrugged, gesturing toward the guitar case slung over his shoulder. “I don’t have to be at band practice until 2, so I thought I’d go with you to the restaurant.”

Alex didn’t know what he wanted to say to that. The Alex from a week ago would have told him to step off in his low I’ll-kick-your-ass-if-you-mess-with-me tone. Part of him wanted to show Puck his makeshift weapons and explain that he’d been taking care of himself for years now without a bodyguard. What kept him silent was the small, yet insistent part that felt warmed that someone cared enough to want to escort him to work. It was unfamiliar, yet he couldn’t deny that it also felt good. So he just decided to give Puck a little smile and nod and let it go. He’d learned that when undecided, it was best to sit back and wait before making a move that would commit him to a plan of action.

They sat beside each other on the train, Puck’s leg almost touching his. The trip from Puck’s bookstore to Puck's apartment had been during a busy part of the day, so they’d ended up standing close enough to talk, but far enough away that touching hadn’t even entered his mind. But now, his mind was focused on feeling Puck’s warmth so close to his. What surprised him was that the thought of Puck pressing against him didn’t bother him in the least.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Almost a week later, Puck found himself loitering outside of Alex’s restaurant, trying not to seem like a stalker. He wanted to see Alex, but short of calling him at work, there wasn’t another way for Puck to talk to him. Puck had waited a few days to see if Alex would show up again at his job or maybe at the apartment, but after nothing, he figured it was his turn to wait for Alex outside. He wondered if Alex had felt then as uncomfortable as Puck felt now. At least Puck thought he could pass for Hispanic in this neighborhood, but he wondered how Alex felt spending so much time in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood when he was so very white. A corner of Puck’s lips pulled up thinking about little Alex walking around the streets, unaware of the looks as he passed. But then again, Alex was good at becoming invisible. Puck had watched him the two times they were on the subway. He wasn’t sure what Alex did, but he almost seemed to disappear in a crowd. It was fascinating, actually. And a little depressing.

The restaurant lights turned off, and the employees began to file out of the restaurant. Most of them eyeballed him with distrust, but he got a smile from the waiter who obviously recognized him from his first visit.

The second to last person was, of course, Alex, who blinked when he saw Puck standing there. After a second, he walked over.

“Hey,” Puck said.

“Hey,” Alex answered.

“So I got out of band practice and realized that I hadn’t seen you in a while.”

“It’s Saturday night. You aren’t going out clubbing?”

Normally that’s exactly what Puck would be doing. In fact, his fellow band mates were shocked when he bailed on them and headed out. Truth be told, he was kind of shocked himself. He wasn’t surprised that he wanted to check on Alex; what got him was the fact that he wanted to spend his Friday with Alex. He didn’t have anything in mind; he just wanted to chill with his friend.

Another disturbing thing was that he should’ve called Mercedes. He knew she had some sort of furtive plans – and when the hell did she become so secretive? – but he should’ve given her the option of coming with him. The thing was, he liked spending time alone with Alex. He liked the lack of tension that came with knowing that a whole ball of emotion wasn’t going to come shooting out of nowhere. He liked that he could just chill with Alex, no pressure. He didn’t have a plan in mind for the night, but that was kind of nice too.

“Naw, didn’t really feel like it tonight. Besides, there’s always the after-church crowd tomorrow.” He tossed Alex a rakish grin.

Alex smiled back and shook his head.

“What were you planning on doing now?” Puck asked, falling into step with Alex.

“Going home. Reading a little bit. Going to sleep.”

“Wow,” Puck said. “My head is reeling from the craziness. Please stop.” He could’ve sworn that Alex almost laughed. “How far do you live from here?”

“Up the street,” Alex said, almost reluctantly.

“We don’t have to go there if you don’t want to,” Puck said, getting the feeling that he was intruding. “We can just walk around if you want. I’d invite you back to my place, but Thomas is having a study group there tonight.” Puck leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “He’s a dance major doing some sort of special performance art project, though, so it can get a little dangerous with hands and legs whipping everywhere. Don't even get me started about all the camel toe.”

That time he did get a laugh, and it felt like a true accomplishment.

“We can go to my room,” Alex said, “but I don’t have much.”

“You have heat?”

Alex nodded.

“Then we’re good.” Puck had another thought. “You have any of the rugelach left?” While Alex had showered at Puck’s, Puck had bagged up what they hadn’t eaten and shoved the bag at Alex before he’d left, giving Alex no time to come up with an excuse not to take it.

Alex shook his head.

“How long did it take you to eat them all?”

Alex suddenly found a passing car fascinating.

“C’mon,” Puck cajoled, chancing a quick, but gentle, shoulder bump. “How long?”

“I finished them that night,” Alex confessed. “What? They were good!” He had to raise his voice over Puck’s laugh.

“Hey – I made them. I know they’re good.” Puck said.

“Such modesty,” Alex teased.

“There is no place for modesty in the midst of truth,” Puck said.

Alex looked at him a second before laughing. “You are so full of crap.”

“But it sounded really good, didn’t it?” Still grinning, Puck asked, “So, what do you want to do?”

Alex thought a bit. “Have you eaten dinner?”

“Sure,” Puck shrugged, looking at his watch. “About five hours ago. So I’m about due if I’m gonna stay awake.”

Tilting his head toward a bodega on the corner, Alex cocked an eyebrow. “They have snacks and stuff and a microwave for customers to use.”

“Sounds perfect,” Puck said, leading the way. “So you live near here?”

“It’s up another few blocks.”

“That’s one fantastic commute.”

“Yeah, I got lucky,” Alex said, opening up the door for Puck.

The inside looked like every corner shop Puck had seen in the outer boroughs, filled with small quantities of necessities – one roll of toilet paper, small bottle of dish soap – and large quantities of junk food and sodas. He felt right at home.

Alex led him to the back, where the room opened up a little to reveal what looked more like an abbreviated version of the convenience stores they’d left behind, hot dogs slowly revolving in a clear container, a couple of coffee carafes next to plastic cups and small creamers, a refrigerator filled with wrapped goods, which is where Alex led him.

“They have all kinds of sandwiches in here,” he said, pointing to the refrigerator, “stuff like egg salad sandwiches,” he smiled at Puck’s pained look, “and steak subs,” Puck’s smile and now-we’re-talking nod let him know he was moving in the right direction, “and things like pastrami and BLT’s. You choose what you want, and they have a microwave behind the register.”

“Behind the register, that’s a new one.”

Alex shrugged, barely looking at the wrapped sandwich he pulled out of the refrigerator. “Turns out, people were nuking the food and eating them back here before they paid for them.”

“Of course they were,” Puck said, unsurprised as he chose a steak and cheese sub and a BLT. “What kind of desserts do they have?”

Alex led him around the corner, where he found two waist-high refrigerator units beside rows of cookies, cakes, and chips. “The things that need to stay cool, ice cream and puddings are in these two, and you see the rest.”

Puck wasn’t certain what mood he was in, so he bought a rice pudding – without raisins, thank you very much – and some chips as well as a personalized size of chocolate cookies. “Drinks,” he decided after he realized that Alex wasn’t planning on picking a dessert. Thinking how much Alex seemed to like his chocolate rugelach, he grabbed another package of chocolate cookies when Alex’s back was turned and had to jog to catch up.

Alex had pulled out a small bottle of water by the time Puck caught up to him. “Can you grab me a large water?” He asked, looking down at his filled hands.

They bought their food and continued down the street until they came upon one of the most depressing buildings Puck had ever seen. It looked like a big, brick box with teensy windows covered by iron bars. The front door itself contained two locks and no buzzer.

“How you let in visitors?” He asked.

“You come down and get them,” Alex said matter-of-factly, and Puck had to remind himself that after living on the streets for almost two years, Alex would find a place of his own where he could lay his head good enough. Besides, he probably hadn’t expected to have visitors.

Knowing that Alex didn’t have a cell phone and assuming that this place didn’t offer landlines, Puck wondered how he was supposed to let Alex know he was outside, but he kept the unhelpful question to himself. It would probably only make Alex defensive, or even worse, it could make him feel bad about something that really was a true accomplishment.

Puck practically fell into Alex’s apartment after surviving the trek up five flights. He’d thought he was in good shape, but he stood there, panting, while Alex calmly walked further into the room and placed his bag on a counter. He returned to the door, activating all of the locks.

Catching his breath, Puck looked around the spartan room. For the first time, it really hit him that when Alex had called his place a room, he really meant a room. There were no chairs, no coffee table, nothing on the walls, no fridge or stove. The only sink looked like a small, white one from an elementary school. He turned toward the teensy window, unsurprised to see the bars over it.

The room reminded him of his stay in juvie – minus the toilet and extra bed.

“You can sit, um, on the floor or on the bed,” Alex muttered, clearly embarrassed.

After setting his guitar down on the floor, he settled himself at the foot of the bed and he opened up his bag, deciding to just play it low key. He figured making a big deal about the room would just make Alex more self-conscious. “Would you mind if I played you something after we ate? I’m working on a song, and I need an unbiased opinion.”

“Sure.” Alex stood awkwardly, holding his sandwich and the two waters.

Pretending like it wasn’t a big deal, Puck patted the bed. “C’mon. I’m starving.”

Alex gave him a small smile and sat on the edge of the head of the bed.

Puck made small talk as they ate, telling Alex about his day, allowing space for Alex to do the same. During that time, he was able to get more of an idea of Alex’s life, which seemed to consist of working at the chop shop in the morning and at the restaurant at night with little exciting ‘finds’ in curbside trash along the way. He wasn’t surprised or appalled at Alex’s apartment being designed by the trash of others; he’d lived in the city long enough to see men and women dressed in business suits rooting around promising looking piles on the curb. In fact, when Tyler’s sister moved in with her boyfriend, she put her unwanted stuff on the street to be taken by anyone who wanted it. It was the big city’s convenient Craig’s list.

However, he was bothered by Alex’s routine. He wanted more for his friend. It was like Alex was content to just tread water forever.

“So, you have a roof over your head; what’s next?” He asked.

“I bought a bar of soap and a light bulb. I’m on the lookout for a rug, maybe a real trashcan instead of using just a bag.” He pointed toward a plastic bag hanging off the doorknob. “Next week, I’m going to try to buy some good, thick lotion.” He held out his hands, and Puck was a little appalled at how rough they looked. “Working on the cars and then washing dishes… well, it’s not as bad in the summer, but it’s just so cold out.”

“We could’ve gotten some at the bodega while we were there,” Puck said.

Alex was already shaking his head. “I have to make sure I have rent covered first.”

“Working two jobs, you must be doing okay, right?” Puck’s mom raised him well enough for him to know not to ask specific questions about money, but he couldn’t imagine that Alex couldn’t afford a room in Queens after working two jobs. Sure, neither place was required to pay him minimum wage, but still.

“I have to be prepared. What if I get mugged? What if they bust the shop or the restaurant catches fire? There are no excuses here. If I don’t pay when rent’s due, I get kicked back out onto the street.” Alex’s tone left no doubt that he was going to do whatever he had to do to not end up back out there, and Puck was equally determined to make sure that even if for some reason Alex couldn’t live here, he was going to end up staying somewhere else – anywhere else – with walls and a ceiling. After a pause, he added, “And I’m trying to save some money.”

“That’s great!” Saving meant looking toward the future, and while he wasn’t sure if Kurt had specific plans, at least he was turned forward, if not actually moving in that direction. “Which bank do you use?” Then he realized his mistake. “I guess you can’t use a bank, right? Evil Uncle could track you down.”

Alex tilted his head. “I’m not eighteen yet.”

“How long you got?’

“Until May.”

“That’s not that far away,” Puck said. “If you want, I can open up an account for you.” He thought about his offer, just made at the spur of the moment, and almost closed his eyes in disgust with himself. Alex wasn’t at the point where he trusted anyone, and he’d just gotten to the point where he’d share little things with Puck. He’d been making such strides, and he really didn’t want one stupid offer to put their relationship back. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that.”

“I appreciate it,” Alex said, “but I’m okay.”

Puck opened his mouth to continue to apologize but realized that Alex had taken the offer way better than Puck would’ve expected. He must have looked as stunned as he felt, because Alex started to laugh.

“You look so scared.”

“I just thought you’d get mad.”

“I know you’re only trying to help,” Alex said. “I do appreciate it.”

That made Puck’s week.


	11. Promises

Chapter 11: Promises

Alex would have thought having Puck over to his room would’ve been really awkward, Puck trying not to feel uncomfortable with Alex’s living conditions. But it actually turned out to be fun, Puck making himself at home on Alex’s bed without pause. Alex even felt comfortable enough to talk a little bit about his financial situation, another thing he couldn’t imagine doing just a few days ago. But there was something about Puck that made him comfortable, not worried about being judged, and he appreciated having a friend. He hadn’t had one since Mace, and their friendship hadn’t managed to survive Mustafa’s death. Alex had tried to be there for Mace, but Mace only wanted to curl up inside his pain and give up on life, despite his teaching Alex that that was a fatal decision for people on the streets.

“Here.” Puck tossed a bag of chocolate cookies at Alex, taking another bag out of his plastic bag.

Surprised, Alex looked down at the bag. Food always seemed to be on his mind. Now that he had money, he could splurge and buy food every so often, but it was so expensive to eat healthy – a fast food burrito was cheaper than a salad – and he didn’t have the ability to keep food in his room. He’d usually go to the bodega in the morning and get an egg sandwich (no meat so he wouldn’t have to worry about food poisoning), carefully cutting it in quarters and eating it throughout the day. Every few weeks he’d buy a small bottle of water and continue to fill it up whenever he could, in bathrooms, at water fountains. After a while, though, he’d start to taste the plastic and would buy another container.

What he missed most was dessert. Sweets were an unnecessary expense. He’d developed a love of chocolate; Puck’s chocolate rugelach’s had disappeared before morning. The apricots were good as well, but chocolate beat fruit every time as far as Alex was concerned.

At times, he’d look longingly at the food wasted at the restaurant, but his pride wouldn’t let him go near it. He’d gotten the job there after he’d been caught rooting through the dumpsters for something untouched. Mace had trained him not to eat anything that had obviously been in someone else’s mouth; that’s how people got sick, and even a simple cold could kill when you lived on the streets. So he’d been painstakingly looking for something to eat when the back door had opened, bathing him in its light. He’d gotten lucky, because one of their two dishwashers had been a no-show, and it was one of the two least liked jobs in the place. Again he’d been lucky, because desperate as he’d been, he didn’t think he would’ve lasted doing the other least favored job, cleaning up in the dining room and, more importantly, the bathrooms.

While he wouldn’t say he’d become accustomed to eating so little, he’d stopped thinking of it as a choice. Going to the same place, buying the same thing, just became part of his routine. It was easier not to think about the choices he couldn’t make if he stopped them from feeling like actual choices. And every once in a while Zuma, his chop-shop boss’ wife, would send him food, or Iago, the chef at the restaurant, would ask Alex to “try” something he’d created.

So a package of cookies was a luxury, and Alex feared that he’d fall back into that trap of wanting things he couldn’t have again. It had been one of the most difficult lessons he’d had to learn, and he didn’t want to have to go through that process again. Already he’d had the rugelach; now there were the cookies in his hands.

“You don’t like them?” Puck asked, and Alex could tell that he was worried even though he was pretending not to care.

“I appreciate it, but…” Alex wasn’t sure how to explain his worry without hurting Puck’s feelings.

“It wasn’t expensive.”

“It’s not that.” Alex put the bag on the bed and turned to face Puck. “When I first got here, all I could think about were things I couldn’t have. I couldn’t stop at Starbucks for a drink, wear designer clothes, even use my favorite bath products, and it was really hard to get to the point where I stopped thinking about those things. I can’t – ” he thought a moment, “ – I can’t keep eating bags of cookies and buying sandwiches, because I’ll start to feel bitter when I don’t have the money to do it anymore.”

He could tell that Puck was trying to understand him and searched his mind for an example that Puck would understand. His eyes lit upon Puck’s guitar case.  
“Imagine one day that you wake up, your right arm’s paralyzed.” He had to hold in his laughter at the look on Puck’s face. “So there you are, bitter, because all you can think about are the things you can’t do. You can’t write or draw, you can’t play your guitar or even open a door easily. So all day all you can think about is what you can’t do. Eventually, though, you have to make a choice. Either you can wallow in anger until it takes you down, or you learn to adjust. You open doors with your other hand, learn how to write left handed. Eventually, you stop thinking that it’s a choice; you automatically use your left hand. Then, say, you get the use of your right hand again, and you find yourself automatically falling into your old habits. But the doctors think it could only be temporary. So the next day, you could be just as you were before, with one working arm.”

Puck still had a perplexed look on his face. Alex opened his mouth to try to explain better, but Puck’s face suddenly smoothed. “You’re worried that you’ll get used to eating a whole lot and buying food all the time?”

“That’s the general idea, yes,” Alex said.

“It’s just one bag of cookies,” Puck said.

“And before that, it was the rugelach,” Alex said. “I just don’t want to get used to… dessert.” It sounded lame when he said it like that, but there it was.

Puck took a deep breath and thought a moment. “You know what I think it is? I think that you’re uncomfortable with the idea that I’m doing all this stuff for you.”

Feeling a swell of anger rising in his chest and making his face hot, Alex opened his mouth, but Puck wasn’t finished.

“I’m not saying that all that stuff about the… paralyzed arm isn’t true; I just think that maybe it might also be a little because you’re worried that you’re going to feel indebted to me.” Puck frowned. “Or maybe that I’ll think you owe me something?” He shook his head. “Either way.”

Alex barely realized he was shaking his head.

“But just hear me out, okay?” Puck reached out a hand, but he didn’t try to touch Alex. “I’ve never been where you were – or are. As bad as I had it at home, I always had a home, and as much as my mom and I didn’t get along, I always had her and my sister and my bubbe. I always had family. I’ve never been rich, but I’ve had things and family and friends. And you, Alex, are my friend.

“I’m not some Daddy Warbucks, here to entice you with treats so I can have my way with you.”

“I don’t think that was his intention with Annie,” Alex pointed out.

Puck huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. I gave you that rugelach, because I love sharing with my friends, especially ones who really love my baking. I bought the cookies, because I don’t like to eat alone, and I have to admit that I really like watching you eat chocolate.”

The heat in Alex’s face reappeared, and he ducked his head.

“I don’t expect anything from you. I just like the feeling I get when I share. Think of it as your doing me a favor.” He held up the package in both hands like an offering. “By eating these cookies, you are making me happy. Don’t you like to see me happy?” He batted his eyes dramatically.

Alex laughed and took the cookies. “Thank you.”

Puck had already scarfed down his cookies by the time Alex had finished his first one. “How about I play you my song while you finish eating?” He reached over his bed and unzipped his case, pulling out his guitar. Gently strumming and tuning, he said, “Okay, now, bear in mind that this is a work-in-progress.”

Alex didn’t realize he’d finished his cookies, pulled up his legs, and had wrapped his arms around them, propping his chin on his knees, spellbound, as he watched Puck play, listened to him sing. It wasn’t until the last note died out and Puck looked up at him that he remembered where he was.

“That was really, really good,” he said.

“Like I said, it still needs some work…”

“Where?” Alex asked, non believing. “It sounded perfect to me.”

Puck smiled, oddly shy, and Alex found it incredibly charming.

“Is this one of the songs for your band?”

“No,” Puck laughed, returning the guitar to its case. “Our stuff is much harder, much louder.”

“Are we talking AC/DC hard?”

“I guess we’re aiming more for Van Halen.”

“Do you do original stuff or covers?”

“A little of both. The covers bring in the audience. They already know the lyrics and can sing along. But we throw in our own stuff, and as we develop a following, we’re getting people who are starting to know our lyrics too.” He laughed. “I gotta tell you, looking down off the stage and watching people sing along with something I wrote… it’s a rush.”

Alex thought wistfully about watching Puck someday up on stage.

“You said you don’t sing anymore?” Puck asked.

Shrugging, Alex absently picked at his blanket.

“Wanna try something together?”

“It’s not in me anymore,” Alex whispered. He tried not to think about it, definitely didn’t want to say the words out loud, as if doing so would make it all real and permanent. Besides, it reminded him of the past, and he didn’t think about the past.

“Not possible,” Puck said. “Music’s a part of people like us. It doesn’t just go away.”

This conversation was leading down roads better left untraveled. He uncurled from the bed and stood, walking to the sink and washing his hands.

Puck seemed to take the hint. “It’s late; I should be getting home.”

Alex had been having a really good time up until the last few minutes, and he didn’t want it to end like that. “I’ll walk you to the station,” he said.

“It’s too cold,” Puck said. “I’m good.”

“You’re my guest; I’m walking you.” Alex picked up the coats from where he’d placed them on the counter, handing Puck his.

They didn’t speak the few blocks to the subway, but Alex stopped at the stairs. “Puck, I’m sorry about – ”

Puck shook his head. “Never be sorry for being truthful. I pushed. You pushed back.” He grinned. “I’m a big boy; I can handle it.”

Alex grinned back.

“So, are we going to keep stalking each other at our jobs?”

“I don’t have a phone.” And he knew he wasn’t going to get one anytime soon.

“Well, I do.” Puck dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This has both my numbers and Aretha’s as well as the landline in our apartment. Call anytime; leave a message if we don’t answer. I’ll put something in my outgoing message if I have something to say to you.” He pulled back the paper as Alex started to take it. “If we haven’t heard from you in a few days, even if it’s just to say that you’re okay, we’re going to develop a craving for Latin food.” He grinned as Alex took the paper. “And yes, that is a threat.”

Alex smiled too, the warmth inside making him no longer feel the cold.

“Both of us want you to feel comfortable with us, which means that if we push, you push back. Just don’t run, okay?”

Alex frowned. “That’s kind of what I’ve learned how to do.”

“How about this? You try not to run, and we’ll try not to push too hard.”

“It’s a deal.” Alex held out his hand.

“Brace yourself,” Puck warned before reaching out and enveloping Alex in a big hug.

Alex’s first instinct was to pull back, and he stiffened. But then he reminded himself that this was Puck, who gave him pastries and sang him songs and let him shower at his house. His hands slowly rose, and he hugged back, and an unfamiliar yet comfortable feeling unfurled inside of him.

“So that’s you not pushing?” Alex asked as they separated.

“I only promised to try,” Puck said. “I didn’t say how hard.“ He grinned and turned, climbing the steps to the subway.


	12. Friends Lost

Chapter 12: Friends Lost

Mercedes heard scratching on the door and turned, surprised, to watch Puck walk through. “You’re home early.”

“It’s three in the morning.” Puck hung up his jacket and walked into the kitchen.

“Sunday morning,” Mercedes pointed out. “You don’t usually sneak in until after five.”

Puck grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, holding it up. Mercedes nodded, and he grabbed another before putting down his guitar case along the wall and joining her on the sofa. “I didn’t go out tonight.” Mercedes looked at the door and back at him. “I didn’t go _out_ out,” he amended. “No bars or clubs. I just wasn’t in the mood.”

Mercedes put a hand over his forehead. “Are you feeling okay, Boo?”

Swiping at her, he gave her her water and settled back. “I’m fine. I just had other plans is all.”

“Did you have band practice tonight?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“I wasn’t out late,” Mercedes said, knowing that while she wasn’t lying, she was stretching the truth a bit. She wasn’t out late for Puck’s normal standards, but she was extremely late for her own.

“Did you have rehearsal?”

“No,” she said, shifting a bit. She didn’t want to be evasive, but for some reason, she was reluctant to talk about where she’d been – or, rather, who she’d been with. She’d gotten to know a different Puck than the one who’d slushied her in high school, and this one was a good guy who was a surprisingly good judge of character. If she spilled it, and he didn’t like the idea, she was worried that it would affect how she felt about it too, and right now, she just wanted to enjoy the fissure of excitement she got every time she thought about it. “Where’d you go?”

As though he could read her mind, Puck smiled smugly. “Where’d _you_ go?”

“You first,” Mercedes said desperately.

“I was hanging out with Alex,” Puck said, a little reluctantly, Mercedes thought.

“What? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I would have if I’d known what you were doing. You were all secretive and shit, and I didn’t want to mess up anything you had going on.”

“I was with Marcel,” Mercedes confessed.

“Momma Cass’ Marcel?” Puck asked.

Mercedes offered him a little smile.

“You go, girl; get you some,” Puck said. “He was checking you out so hard during Thanksgiving that I wondered if he were leaving bruises.”

“Shut up,” Mercedes laughed, pleased despite herself. “Now tell me about Alex.”

“It was good,” Puck said, smiling. “I got to see his room.”

“What’s it like?” Mercedes had imagined everything from a prison cell to an empty room with a light bulb dangling from the ceiling.

“It’s… not bad.”

“Details,” she ordered.

“It looked clean enough, and it seemed safe. He has to share a bathroom with the other people on his floor, and he swears that the same guy is always in there, so he’s never actually been in his bathroom yet.” Puck laughed. “He has a bed and a sink but like he said when he was here, he doesn’t have a microwave or a refrigerator, so he can’t keep much food around. He found a lamp and acted like buying a bar of soap and a light bulb was a really big deal, which, considering how much he’s probably making, it really is. He’s hoping to get a trash can and a rug, but next on the list is lotion.” Puck sighed. “You should see his hands. He has to wash them in chemicals at the shop to get rid of the grease, he keeps them in detergent at the restaurant, and then he has to deal with them being all cold when he goes outside.”

“I wish I’d known. People give me lotion all the time. I have tons of it in my room.” She sighed. “It’s not as though he’d take it, though, would he?”

“Well, we made a deal. You and I are going to try to not push so hard, and he’s gonna try not run every time he feels pressured.”

Mercedes wasn’t sure about it. “You think it’ll work?”

“It’s worth a try. I gave him both of our cell numbers and the number here, so pick up if you see a number you don't recognize. It might be him.” Puck settled into the sofa. “Now tell me about your date.”

“It wasn’t really a date,” Mercedes said, trying to convince herself.

Puck snorted. “You would’ve told me about it if you two were just going to hang out. No, this was a date.”

“I don’t think so,” Mercedes persisted, wondering why she kept talking but unable to stop.

“Did you go to dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Did he pay?”

Mercedes smiled. “Yes.”

“Did he walk you back here?”

“Yes.”

“Did he kiss you?”

Mercedes pressed her hands against her hot cheeks. “No!”

“He’s a gentleman,” Puck said promptly. “It was a date.”

She grinned a little. “Okay.”

“When are you going to see him again?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “We both have school, and he helps out at Aunt Mama’s, and I have rehearsal…”

“Weekends,” Puck said. “Meet on the weekends.” He rose and stretched, and Mercedes just had to take a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of her. “I’m heading to bed. Let me know if you need more help, because damn I’m good at this!”

Mercedes laughed. “Goodnight, boy.”

“Night Aretha.”

After Puck left, Mercedes sat there, sipping her water and thinking about how much going out with Marcel had helped her frame of mind on many levels. They’d talked about everything, from growing up – her in Lima, him mostly on the streets – to their studies, from their families to their friends. They talked about Puck, about Marcel’s brothers, about Alex. Marcel talked to her a little about the things he’d felt when he was homeless, and she could listen in a way that she hadn’t been able to during Thanksgiving. The evening left her with hope – both for a potential relationship with Marcel and for developing a relationship with Alex.

She finally rose, draining her water, and decided that going to bed hopeful and happy was going to be a routine that she definitely wanted to repeat.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Over the next few weeks, they developed a pattern of sorts. Alejandro let Alex use his phone at the shop, and Alex would call Puck on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday mornings, leaving a message that he was just checking in and was okay. Saturdays, if he didn’t pick up, Puck would leave a message for Alex as part of his outgoing message. It usually suggested that they meet somewhere on Saturday night or Sunday morning. Alex called Mercedes too, usually a quick message on Thursdays or Fridays when he knew she had class. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, but just being around her made his mind stray to the past, and he didn’t want a repeat of what had happened the night he’d stayed at Puck and Mercedes’.

He and Puck – and sometimes Mercedes – would walk around the city at night when it wasn’t too cold, just talking and laughing about nothing in particular. During the nights where the cold tore through his clothes down to his bones, they would usually meet at Puck and Mercedes’ apartment. He finally got to meet the elusive roommate, Thomas, who turned out to be a normal looking Jewish guy with dark curly hair and large brown eyes who loved to talk about his girlfriend. He did have a wonderful body, Alex couldn’t help but notice, a nice dancer’s leanness. His eyes left Thomas and automatically sought out Puck, who was smirking at him from across the room.

Later that night, alone in his room, for the first time since before, his hand crept down inside his underwear, and he closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax and just feel. And if the face he saw just before his body arched was Puck’s, well then he could just keep that to himself.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Toward the end of January, Alex was underneath his fourth 1994 Honda Accord so far that month, feeling pretty good about his life. Thanks to items that Mercedes and Puck had started “finding” and giving to him, he now had a nice, warm rug beside his bed. His counter was mostly filled with lotions, although he’d made a space for a small disposable razor, toothpaste and toothbrush, and a plastic cup. His soap sliver had become a travel-sized bar, taken directly out of the package and put onto a chipped saucer he’d found lying on the top of a trashcan along his walk home. He’d dropped the empty package into his small, black trashcan.

A year ago, he’d never have imagined his life would be like this: a roof over his head where he could keep stuff and not worry about it disappearing, three separate pairs of jeans, and friends, people with homes of their own and jobs and schools, friends who cared enough to demand that he stay in touch with them regularly, friends who plied him with pastries whenever they thought he’d let them get away with it.  
He was making good time when Alejandro called him away. He walked over, wiping his hands on a rag to get off the worst of the oil and grit, to find Momma Cass staring at him sadly, and he knew. She didn’t have to say a word.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck had felt comfortable enough with how things were progressing with Alex that he didn’t get worried when Alex didn’t call on Monday. He just left a joking outgoing message that obliquely referred to people not “calling when they said they were going to” and left it at that. Wednesday night, he realized he was worried. He decided he wasn’t going to be able to make it from the bookstore to Alex’s restaurant before it closed, and he remembered that Alex’s building didn’t have one of those devices on the outside that would let Puck buzz up and let him know he was there. As much as Puck and Mercedes tried to do their best to convince him to let them give him a pre-pay phone, Alex had dug in his heels and refused. So Puck wasn’t going to be able to try and track Alex down until Thursday when he was off and didn’t have band practice. Mercedes was in classes all day, but she planned to call him after her last one to meet up with him and, hopefully, Alex if Puck had found him by then.

Despite closing on Wednesday night, Puck was up on Thursday morning before his alarm, before the sun rose. He threw on his warmest clothes, even put on a hat, and was stuffing granola bars in his pockets when Mercedes tiptoed out of her room in flannel pajamas with matching slippers.

“Is your cell charged?” She whispered.

Puck double-checked for the second time that morning and nodded. “Yours?”

Mercedes nodded. “Text me as soon as you find out anything. Anything.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Puck said, trying to be optimistic.

“Of course he is.” Mercedes gave him a watery smile before returning to her bedroom.

Puck wouldn’t have admitted it to Mercedes, but he hadn’t really slept at all, his worry over Alex pressing into him like a tight band over his chest, making it an effort to breathe. He kept thinking about all of the potential for danger. Sure, Alex had been taking care of himself, but all it took was someone to think he had something of value, someone bigger or stronger or crazier.

And what if something had happened to Alex? He could be in the hospital – or worse – and no one would know that he had people out in the world concerned for his welfare, worried about him.

He really hadn’t gotten to know Kurt well, but he’d become close to Alex, and he couldn’t even entertain the thought that Alex might be out there alone somewhere, needing him. Which led to the question, when had Alex become so important? When had worry over him make it hard for Puck to breathe?

The first place he stopped was the chop shop, and he had to pull out all of his street smarts just to get to meet the guy in charge, Alejandro. And then he had to switch modes and convince Alejandro that first, he wasn’t a threat to their operation, second, that he was indeed a friend of Alex’s, and that third, he meant his friend no harm. “I’m worried about him. He calls me to check in, and I haven’t heard from him in days.”

Alejandro frowned, scratched his neck, and thought a moment. “A woman who’s helped him before came to see him.”

“Momma Cass?”

“You know her?”

Puck chanced a grin. “Who doesn’t.”

“Yeah.” Alejandro grinned back.

“I helped at the shelter around Thanksgiving,” Puck told him, hoping that it would alleviate some of the man’s concern.

“I don’t know what she said to him, but after they talked, he came to me and said he’d need some time off.”

After thanking the man, Puck headed over to Momma Cass’ shelter, texting Mercedes about what he’d learned so far.

He walked up to the back door in time to see Marcel getting out of a car with two large black suitcases.

“Hey, Puck,” Marcel said with a grin. “Volunteering again?”

“Looking for Alex, actually. Have you seen him?”

“I’ve been at a conference for the past week,” Marcel said.

Puck distantly recalled Mercedes saying something about that, but he’d been busy looking for the perfect chocolate pastry to try making for Alex at the time, and he hadn’t paid much attention.

“Let’s go inside and see if Mom knows anything.”

Puck offered to take one of the bags but then almost had to drag it when he felt its weight. He saw Marcel smother a smile but was thankful when the big man said nothing and just let him struggle on his own. He was happy to let go of the thing as soon as they were inside, though.

“She should be awake, but let me go upstairs and check,” Marcel said.

Puck nodded, waiting to massage his hand until Marcel had disappeared up the stairs.

A minute or two later, Marcel reappeared, smile gone. “You’d better come up.”

Momma Cass sat on the sofa with a cup of coffee in her hands but put it on the coffee table and walked toward Puck when she saw him. Cupping his face in her hands, she looked at him steadily for a few seconds, evidently making up her mind about something. “Come sit down.”

Puck remained silent, worried. After a few seconds, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please just tell me that he’s okay.”

“Physically he’s fine.” Momma Cass scooted to the edge of the sofa and took one of Puck’s hands in hers. “Do you remember me telling you about a friend of his, a guy who helped him survive on the streets when he first got here?”

Puck nodded. “Chase. Mercedes and I talked to him the Friday after Thanksgiving. He seemed really out of it.”

“He’s been spiraling downward for quite a while.”

“After his dog died. Alex said he’s been trying to help, but he didn’t seem very hopeful.”

Momma Cass stared at him. “Alex told you that?”

“Sure,” Puck said, shrugging, not sure why it was so surprising.

“Maybe you can help more than I thought.” She squeezed his hand. “They found Chase’s body a few days ago; he apparently died from a drug overdose.”

Puck closed his eyes, imagining how hard that must have been for Alex. “Is that why you went to see him at the shop?”

Momma Cass’ eyebrows rose. “You’ve been there?”

“I was there this morning. Alex is supposed to call either Mercedes or I pretty much every other day, but we hadn’t heard from him in a while, and we started to get worried.”

“He’s dealing with a lot right now. It’s tough to claim a body without identification, so I’ve been helping him with that. He didn’t want Chase’s body to be buried in Potter’s Field.”

“Where is he now?”

“He should be at his room, but later this morning, he’s supposed to go over to Velazquez Funeral Home and pick up Chase’s ashes.”

“Can you give me the address?”

“I can do you one better. I’ll drive you over there,” Marcel said.

Puck texted Mercedes on the way to the funeral home but stayed silent on the drive. Marcel pulled into the small parking lot, backing into the parking space, and turned off the ignition.

“Thanks,” Puck said, putting his hand on the handle.

“Wait,” Marcel said. “It’s cold out there, and who knows when Alex is gonna arrive. You might as well stay where it’s warm.

“But I’m sure you have things to do,” Puck said, not wanting to inconvenience the man.

“Nothing is more important than making sure that Alex is okay.” He sighed. “Or as okay as you can be when something like this happens.”

Curious, Puck asked, “Did you ever lose someone close like this when you were living on the streets?” After a pause, he added, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

Marcel turned so he was facing Puck. “I saw a lot of death on the streets, but I wasn’t ever really close to anyone. Maybe it was because I was so big, but people tended to think I could take care of myself, so it was really tough going out there at first. From what I could tell, Chase took Alex under his wing the first time they laid eyes on each other. I got the feeling that Alex reminded Chase of someone, because people just don’t get attached like that to other people out there without some kind of reason, be it conscious or subconscious.” He looked at Puck, considering. “Or maybe there’s just something about Alex that makes everyone want to take care of him.”

“The strange thing is,” Puck said, thinking, “Alex can take care of himself. He’s capable and probably the strongest person I’ve ever met. It’s just that he deserves better than what’s he’s got. And the worst part,” Puck said, warming to the topic, “is that he doesn’t know it. He seems fine with just accepting what little he has instead of grabbing for more.

There’s so much out there for him if he’d just reach out and take it.”

Silence fell in the car, and Puck started regretting his outburst, realizing that he might’ve revealed more than he’d intended. Or even realized himself.

“Could part of what’s out there for him maybe be a person?” Marcel asked after a few moments.

“Mercedes and I’ve been trying to get him to move in with us,” Puck said, trying to ignore any possible deeper meaning.

“Hmm,” Marcel said.

“But of course he’s too independent,” Puck continued, “which I get. It’s taken him a lot to get to the point where he has steady employment and a roof over his head. He’s actually buying food – nothing perishable, of course, but he has crackers and stuff in his room now.”

“You’ve been in his place?” Marcel asked.

“Only a few times. Mercedes and I got him a rug, and it was like we’d bought him a mansion.” Puck laughed. “We came over and had, like, an official rug ceremony. Mercedes brought the sparkling cider, and I made these chocolate cream puff pastries that turned out awesome.” Puck laughed again at the memory. “He wouldn’t let us stand on the rug all night. We had to walk around it to get to the bed.”

“It sounds like things are working out really well for you,” Marcel said, smiling.

“Up until now.” Puck sighed and continued to look out the window. “How do I help him through something like this?”

“Keep doing what you’re doing. Be there for him. If he needs to talk, let him talk. If he needs to be quiet, give him the freedom to let him be quiet. Just take your cues from him.”

Suddenly exhausted, Puck rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Maybe two hours?” Puck guessed. “I closed last night, and I just couldn’t stop worrying that maybe something had happened, and no one would know to call me to let me know.”

Marcel nodded. “Why don’t you lay your head back for a few minutes? I’ll keep a watch out.”

Puck shook his head. “I appreciate it, but I’m not going to be able to sleep until I see Alex.”

“I know what you mean. Just close your eyes, then. Give yourself a break. Who knows when he’s gonna get here.”

“Yeah,” Puck said, small smile on his face. “He refuses to get even a crappy little watch, so he never knows the time.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Marcel promised.

Acquiescing, Puck rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. His last thought before falling asleep was that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he was able to see for himself that Alex wasn’t physically hurt.

Puck was awakened with a gentle nudge from the giant beside him. “Noah. Here he comes.”

Subtly wiping around his mouth to get rid of any possible drool, Puck blinked owlishly out of the window until he recognized Alex’s long-limbed stride, the hands buried deep in the pocket of his jeans, shoulders hunched over, hoodie hiding the face focused on the sidewalk in front of him. The ever-present bag flopped against his chest.

“Good luck,” Marcel said as Puck opened the door.

“Thanks,” Puck said, and he could tell that Marcel knew he meant for more than just the ride.

“Anytime, bro,” Marcel said. He handed Puck a card. “This has the numbers to mom’s shelter and to my cell.”

Puck took the card and shoved it in his front pocket before closing the door. He jogged toward the door and stopped next to Alex just as Alex rang the bell.

Alex looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Puck shrugged. “I was just in the neighborhood…” He let out a small sigh of relief when he saw the flash of appreciation in Alex’s eyes before Alex returned his attention to the door.

An older Hispanic man opened the door.

“I’m… Momma Cass…” Alex stuttered.

“Please,” the man said, stepping back and letting them inside.

Funeral parlors had always confused Puck. Except for being a place to pick out a casket or urn, they seemed like an unnecessary step. He figured, a person died, you put them in a casket, have the service at the gravesite, lower the body in the ground. One stop, and it’s all good. He didn’t understand the need for a service before the shorter service at the gravesite. Making the ceremony longer wasn’t going to bring the person back. It just took up a whole bunch of time and forced people to tie up traffic trying not to get lost between the church or funeral parlor and the gravesite. His mom had once tried to explain that it was to help the mourners say goodbye, but it seemed a lot more real once that body was lowered into the ground. He did understand the attempt at being soothing, the slow organ music, the muted lighting. As a performer, he could appreciate atmosphere, and these places had it in spades.

They followed the man into an office, where the man gestured for Puck and Alex to sit before he walked around the desk and sat himself.

Puck didn’t really pay attention to what the man was saying. He was focused on Alex. The dark circles under his eyes attested to the fact that Alex hadn’t been sleeping. He gripped the bag on his lap so tightly that the skin was turning white. Without thinking, Puck reached over and grabbed one of those hands, his eyes offering silent support when Alex looked over to him in surprise. Puck gave Alex’s hand a squeeze, and Alex squeezed back before returning his attention to the funeral director.

“I have the money,” Alex was saying. “Where’s your restroom?”

The funeral director hid his surprise well, giving Alex directions.

It had taken quite a while for Alex to confess that he kept his money in the foot of some pantyhose he had wrapped around his waist. Puck thought it was pretty inspired actually, although he worried about how much money Alex carried around with him. He knew Alex he wouldn’t keep money in his apartment, no matter how secure it seemed, and he still didn’t have any bank accounts and hadn’t asked Puck to keep any money for him. If anyone had any idea about how much money Alex probably had on him in a given day, Alex could find his throat slit, his body ravaged for not only his clothing but also for that wad hidden in the pantyhose.

In fact, the only reason Puck knew about it at all was once Alex had accompanied Puck to the grocery store and had insisted on helping pay, since he said he was helping eat. He’d forced Puck to wait while he went to the restroom to pull out a few dollars, and Puck wouldn’t let up until Alex explained.

Alex returned to the room, money in his hand. He carefully counted out two thousand dollars, and Puck couldn’t believe he had saved up that much in just a few months. He didn’t know exactly how much Alex was getting paid for his two jobs, but he knew it was well under minimum wage.

The funeral director took the money, wrote out a receipt, and put it in a folder that he gave to Alex. Alex took off his bag, opened it reverently and slid in the folder. It was the first time he’d opened the bag in Puck’s presence, and Puck couldn’t help but lean forward for a glimpse inside. All he saw was large book – possibly a photo album? – before the bag was closed and secured.

The man left them in the office for a few minutes, and they sat there in silence. Puck wasn’t sure what to say, so he fell back on the funeral rituals he understood and left Alex to his thoughts. The man returned with a simple urn and handed it to Alex, saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Alex said quietly, offering up a small smile before looking to Puck.

They stepped outside, the cold like a smack in Puck’s face, and stood there a minute. “Where to?” Puck finally asked.

Alex squinted, thinking a moment, before saying, “Central Park.” His voice was even, clear in the quiet, but Puck could hear the underlying sadness and fatigue.  
They took a step in the direction Alex had come when they heard a car honking. Puck turned and realized that Marcel hadn’t left. Smiling his relief at not having to walk through train stations and sit on metros with an urn, he nudged Alex toward the car.

Alex stopped when he recognized the car.

Puck didn’t even have to question Alex’s thoughts. “You have to let your friends help you,” he said, hoping Alex understood what Puck wasn’t saying, that if Alex’s friend had just let Alex help him, he might still be around.

Alex sighed and nodded, walking over to Marcel’s car.

Puck opened the back door and let Alex slip in before getting into the passenger seat.

“Where to?” Marcel asked.

“Central Park,” Puck said.

“What part?”

Puck turned to face Alex, who sat stiffly, arms cradling the urn.

“The Meer?”

“The FDR it is.”

Except for short rides by cab, this was the first time Puck had traveled in the city by a vehicle. He was lost in minutes, fascinated by the neighborhoods that flashed past. He totally dug going past LaGuardia airport and over the two bridges it took to get into Manhattan.

“Dude, the first thing I’m gonna buy after I make it big is a car.”

“You could get one now, living in Brooklyn,” Marcel stated, “but it’s only really worth it if you need to go out of town often. I barely use it to go anywhere in the city.”

“I couldn’t afford the payments anyway,” Puck said. “Tyler, one of my band mates, has a van we use to transport our stuff to our gigs, but it’s filled with equipment, so I just meet them there.”

“Where does he live?” Marcel asked.

“Staten Island.”

“Wow,” Marcel said. “That’s so far away. Have you ever been there?”

“Naw, my passport’s not up to date,” Puck said, making Marcel laugh.

The entire trip, Puck had kept an eye on Alex, and he watched Alex’s body slowly relax during Puck’s conversation with Marcel.

Marcel pulled over. “This is as far as I can go,” he said. He looked into the rearview mirror. “Condolences, Alex.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, trying to smile and failing miserably at it.

Puck got out, opening the door for Alex, and waving as Marcel wove back into traffic. Silently he followed Alex down a footpath until he stopped short, feeling as if he’d gone back in time. The snowfall the night before had turned the place into a winter wonderland. The trees seemed to have leaves made of icicles that shined and twinkled in the sunlight. A few people ice skated on the pond. “This is beautiful,” Puck said, realizing he was whispering.

“This was Mace’s favorite place in the city,” Alex said, stepping forward. “We spent a lot of time here in the summer.” They walked toward the bank. “I think it reminded him of where he was from.”

“Did he ever talk about it?”

Alex shook his head. “I think he had a lot of good memories from the past; maybe he figured out how to separate everything in his head.”

“What do you mean?” Puck didn’t understand.

Quiet for a moment, Alex’s eyes looked around the lake. “I think he learned how to think of the good times without dwelling on the bad.” He looked at Puck. “I can’t do that.”

After a moment, Puck thought he got it. Alex didn’t talk about the past, about Kurt Hummel’s past, because all roads led to his losing his dad.

“Maybe he realized that the past was always going to be this big…” he searched for the right word, “obstacle if he closed it away. Doing that kind of thing gives it power. Sure, when you let it out, it’ll hurt like hell at first, but after a while, you’re able to look past all the bad to remember the good.” He shrugged. “At least I think so.”

Alex was silent, so Puck adjusted his jacket and settled himself for a long wait.  
However, it was only a few minutes before Alex said, “Let’s go over here.” He led Puck into the woods a bit before looking around. “I think this is where he liked to sit. It looks different in the winter, and I haven’t been here in a long time.”

“How do you want to do this?” Puck asked.

“I thought maybe I could scatter the ashes around these trees.”

Puck nodded.

Alex didn’t move.

“Want me to do it?” Puck asked, thinking that maybe it was too much for Alex.

“Maybe we should say something first?” Alex asked.

“Sure,” Puck said, digging his gloved hands deeper into his jacket pocket.

Alex thought a moment. “Hail Mary full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

Puck looked at him, surprised. “I thought you were an atheist.”

“Mace was Catholic.” Alex shrugged. “I’m a sucker for dramatic flair, and let’s face it, the Catholics have that in spades.” He opened the container, looked around, and then slowly poured the ashes around the trees. He’d almost made it around the third one when the container emptied. Sighing, he looked at Puck. “That’s that, then.”

Puck walked over and threw an arm around Alex, leading him back toward the lake. “So, where are we?”

“This is the Meer, the Harlem Meer,” Alex explained. “We’re pretty much at the top of Central Park. Meer is Dutch for lake, which makes sense, considering...” He waved an arm toward the lake.

“So this is Harlem?” Puck looked around.

Alex gave him a small smile. “This is part of it.”

“How do we get home?” Alex’s smile fell, and he tried to turn away, but Puck tightened his grip. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have tried to touch Alex, but now he felt reasonably certain that Alex wouldn’t run. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Alex said, shrugging off Puck’s arm and taking a few steps away.

Puck stood in the silence, taking in Alex’s crossed arms and stiff back. “You know,” he said reasonably, voice even, “you’re breaking your promise.”

“What promise?” Alex asked, his back still turned.

“You said you wouldn’t run.”

That got a reaction as Alex turned angrily. “I said I’d try not to run. Besides, I’m still here!”

“Your body’s here, but you’re hiding something.” Puck said. “Look, I’m not saying that you have to share everything; you deserve to keep things to yourself. But there’s something going on with you, something big. At first I thought you stopped calling me because you were upset about your friend and were busy with Momma Cass trying to take care of the details. But now I think there’s something more. What’s going on?”

Alex rubbed his face with his hands, his shoulders slumped.

Puck took a few steps closer, bending down to catch Alex’s eyes, but he remained silent.

“I just,” Alex closed his eyes, and it looked like he was trying hard not to cry. “I’m going to lose my room.”

“What? What happened?”

“Everything costs. Everything.”

Puck flashed back to earlier, when Alex gave all that money to the funeral director. “The cremation?”

“That was the most expensive part.” Alex conceded. “I just don’t have the rent money this month.”

“Maybe if you explained – ” Puck started.

Alex cut him off. “The rent is due the first day of the month, no exceptions, no excuses.”

Puck didn’t know what to say. He knew how hard Alex had worked and saved to get into the place, the favors that Momma Cass had pulled to even get him on the waiting list in the first place, and he’d personally become invested, helping Alex ‘find’ things to make it more of a home. And now, suddenly, Alex was going to lose it. What did you say to someone about to lose everything they’d worked so hard for? Even if he and Mercedes could scrape together the money, he knew that Alex wouldn’t take it. The only way he’d even possibly consider it would be as a loan, and there was no way he’d be able to pay them back and continue pay his rent. “When do you have to move out?”

“Tomorrow’s my last day.”

Puck squinted into the sun, thinking. Finally, he nudged Alex’s shoulder and started walking down the path. “C’mon.”

Alex automatically fell in step with him. “Where’re we going?”

“We’re going to take the train to my place and do what everyone too young to legally purchase and drink alcohol does.” He paused. “We’re going to gorge on junk food.”

Alex gave a mix between a hiccup and a laugh. “Stop.”

“Can you just follow along for once?” Puck asked, sighing.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Alex said with a small smile.

“Oh.”


	13. The Cure To All Ills

Chapter 13: The Cure To All Ills

Class was killing Mercedes. Normally, she enjoyed her theater classes and tolerated her required ones, but today they were just holding her back from doing what she wanted to do, and that was be with Puck and Alex. She’d kept her phone in her hands, reading each of Puck’s texts as they arrived. She’d also gotten a couple from Marcel, bless him, letting her know what was going on from his point of view. She responded to Marcel’s but waited Puck out, not wanting to add her input until she’d learned the whole story. She wanted to see their faces, look at their body language. They’d been going over learning how to project intentions without speech in her movement class, and she’d been applying some of the things she’d learned in her real life. She found, especially with Alex, that she could almost learn more from watching him than she could from listening to him. And now, learning that he’d lost his friend and had been trying to deal with it without them, she just wanted to hug him. Only Puck had gotten close enough to do that, but just the other week, she’d hip checked Alex in the kitchen, and he hadn’t run away screaming. Yeah, she was making some progress.

Her phone vibrated, and she surreptitiously read that they were headed to the apartment after buying “shitloads of ice cream”. She had to smother a smile at the order that she drag her ass home immediately since they had a huge spoon with her name on it.

She zipped out of her last class and took the subway home, almost running to the apartment. She had a difficult time fitting her key in the lock, she was breathing so hard, but the door swung open suddenly, Puck grabbing her arm and pulling her into the apartment.

He looked behind himself before whispering as he quietly closed the door and started helping Mercedes take off her bag and coat. “We only have a second; Alex is in the bathroom. His friend OD’d earlier this week, and Momma Cass helped Alex with the paperwork so that he could get control over the guy’s body and get him cremated. We spread the dude’s ashes up in Central Park – stop with the face – ”

Mercedes straightened the face she hadn’t even known she had, but spreading the ashes in public? Eww. There must be laws against that kind of thing, she thought, but she refocused on Puck.

“ – and Alex is going to be homeless in a couple of days, because he had to use all of his money on his friend. So we’re going to eat until we throw up tonight and figure out something tomorrow. Got it?”

Mercedes nodded. “Ice cream until we throw up. Got it.”

Puck rolled his eyes. “Get your butt in here.”

“Where’s my spoon?” Mercedes asked as Alex walked out of the bathroom.

He looked terrible, worse than she’d imagined. She’d expected sadness, maybe some worry, but he looked close to being shattered. She reminded herself that in two days, he was going to be on the streets again after all the crimping and saving he’d done. He was looking to returning to a life without locks or warmth, without a place to be safe. He was going to have to give up all those things he’d slowly been collecting to create a home for himself. So for all intents and purposes, he’d lost almost everything, his friend and his home. But he hadn’t lost them. He still had Puck, and he still had Mercedes.

Puck handed Mercedes her large spoon and gave her one of his let’s-don’t-blow-this looks before sitting down.

Mercedes and Alex’s relationship had started out a little rocky, but now she wasn’t waiting for him to turn back into Kurt or suddenly remind her of some incident in his past. In fact, she rarely thought of Kurt when she was with Alex anymore. It was as though he were truly a different person. The one thing they did have in common, though, was that they both brought out Mercedes’ protective and supportive side. No one was gonna hurt them if Mercedes had any say in it. Turned out, Alex inspired the same feelings in Puck. Mercedes absently wondered if Kurt would have done the same had he and Puck gotten to know each other back in high school.

“What kinds of ice cream did you get?” Mercedes asked, peering in the open cartons sitting on top of the coffee table.

“We got your garden variety vanilla and chocolate, a few different kinds of Ben & Jerrys, some Breyers.”

Mercedes looked around for a bowl, but Puck smirked at her. “No bowls allowed, Sister. We’re strictly a spoon-in-carton operation here.”

Both Puck and Alex held up their spoons in unison. If Alex hadn’t looked so sad, Mercedes probably would have busted up with laughter. Instead, she merely grinned and grabbed a container.

Two hours later, they all lay around, hands on stomachs, eyes barely open.

“I think I need to throw up,” Mercedes groaned.

“I call dibs,” Puck said, although he didn’t move.

After a few seconds, Mercedes said, “How am I supposed to wait my turn if you don’t get up?”

“Okay. You go first.”

Mercedes didn’t move either, and Puck laughed. He tilted his head from his end of the sofa to look over at Alex. “You still conscious over there?”

“Hmmm,” Alex groaned.

“How was this going to help again?” Mercedes asked.

“This is supposed to be the underaged version of drinking alcohol,” Puck explained, “but I think downing a fifth of vodka and the ensuing hangover would’ve felt better than this.”

“When’d you stop drinking alcohol?” Mercedes asked.

“Who said I stopped?” Puck asked. “I just thought I’d try something new, something legal, and look what it got me. Bloated on the couch, and I’m going to remember every sickening bite.”

“But you won’t be waking up in some stranger’s bed,” Mercedes offered, “trying to sneak out before she wakes up.”

“There is that, I suppose,” Puck conceded.

“So what do we do now?”

Puck blinked at Mercedes. “Umm, pass out?”

“Alex’ll be hurting tomorrow if he sleeps in that chair all night,” Mercedes said, although she couldn’t see how he was going to make it all the way to his room.

“I’ve slept in worse places,” Alex reminded her.

“He can crash with me,” Puck said.

Mercedes glared at him.

“What?”

She wasn’t going to have this conversation in front of Alex, but she’d seen Puck when he was crushing on someone, and she knew all the signs, signs she was seeing when he talked about or spent time with Alex. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, but they’d just gotten Alex back, and while things were good, they weren’t solid enough to handle a failed relationship. Plus, she knew for a fact that Kurt still hadn’t even been kissed before he left Lima. She wasn’t sure how extensive Alex’s sexual knowledge was now, but she could tell that he was still a romantic and couldn’t imagine him sleeping around. Like Puck. She doubted he’d been very sexually active while he was homeless, which meant that he might have some bad memories, and she didn’t want Puck forcing the issue.

“Alex can stay with me,” she said. “My bed’s bigger.” She thought a moment. “And better.”

“That’s true,” Puck conceded, rolling his head to look in Alex’s direction. “Her bed’s orgasmic. It’s just soft enough, just hard enough, and it’s one of those kinds where you can jump on one side without spilling a glass of wine sitting on the other side.”

Mercedes gave him another glare. When had he been jumping on her bed with a glass of wine?

“I saw it on TV, Aretha,” Puck said, not all together believably.

They all sat there, unmoving, listening as a key slid in the lock and the door open.

“Hey,” Mercedes heard Thomas say quietly. “Anyone awake?”

“We’re in here,” Mercedes said tiredly.

“Bloated and nauseous,” Puck added.

Thomas was one of those nondescript people that Mercedes passed on the street every day, curly dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, average height, average weight. But the thing that held him apart from everyone else couldn’t be found in looking at him on the street. Mercedes happened to know that when properly motivated, Thomas could fly. One day she was between classes and knew he was rehearsing nearby, so she snuck out and slid into the balcony. What she’d seen had taken her breath away. His powerful legs pushed him up into leaps that she swore would’ve been over her head and took him across the stage in seconds. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she’d begun to see spots. She’d never really looked at him the same way again.

“So, I have news,” Thomas said, walking further into the room. He had a hesitant smile on his face, and his eyes looked a little shocked.

“Good news or bad news?” Puck asked, and one quick glance at him told Mercedes that he was as confused by the mixed signals as she was.

“Good news?” Evidently, Thomas wasn’t sure either.

“Okay,” Puck drawled.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Alex said, standing.

“Please stay,” Thomas said. “It’s kind of like you’re our fourth, invisible roommate.” He smiled.

Alex smiled nervously back as he reseated himself, and Mercedes could tell he was shocked by Thomas’ words.

“What’s going on?” She asked finally, when it seemed like Thomas was just going to stand there.

“Finnoula’s pregnant,” Thomas said.

Silence reigned again as Thomas’ potential future flashed behind Mercedes’ eyes. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. Trying to sound upbeat but with a sinking heart, she said, “Congratulations! What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to get married and move in with her mom. She lives in Queens,” Thomas explained to Alex.

“Are you going to stay in school?” Puck asked.

“I’m going to try to see if I can maybe go part time. It’ll take longer to graduate, but that way I’ll be able to get a job. She’s going to try to see what she can do about this semester – she’s due in June, so she doesn’t think she’ll be able to finish it out. We’ll see how we can work things after the summer. She might postpone going back until either I graduate or the baby’s a little older.”

Puck took a deep breath and stood, holding out his hand. “Congratulations, man.”

Alex stood as well. “Yes, congratulations.”

After shaking their hands, he said, “I know this is short notice, and I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you find someone to take my place, but I’m planning on being out of here by tomorrow night.

“That’s okay,” Puck said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Mercedes said, trading one of the lightening-fast blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glances with Puck that they’d developed since knowing Alex. She knew they were on the same page. “You take care of you. But promise you’ll stay in touch.”

“Absolutely,” Thomas said, smiling. It seemed like he was a little relieved that the conversation had gone so well. Considering the bind he was leaving them in, he’d probably been worried that they were going to make him pay for at least the next month’s rent while they looked for a new roommate. “I’m gonna grab some stuff tonight, but I’ll get the rest of my things tomorrow.”

Excited about the perfect timing, Mercedes spontaneously hugged Thomas.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Even though he was rarely there, Thomas was one of the first roommates Mercedes had ever had. He’d been really helpful and sweet when she first arrived, giving her tips and helping her find her way around. Having him leave was actually a little bittersweet.

“It was nice to meet you,” Alex said, smiling at him. “Good luck with everything.”

Thomas smiled, gave a little wave, and went into his room.

Puck and Mercedes collapsed back on the sofa.

“Did getting up hurt as much for you two as it did for me?” Puck asked. Mercedes and Alex both nodded as they all groaned.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

In the end, Alex slept on the sofa in the living room. He acted like he didn’t want to put anyone out, but truth be told, he knew he couldn’t handle the memories of sleeping with Mercedes. It would just bring up the past, and he had a difficult enough of a time keeping that stuff at bay lately. Just by virtue of the fact that he was spending more time with Mercedes and Puck, he found the past trying to make itself known like too much jelly squishing outside the bread in a sandwich. So many times he found himself about to bring up a story from the past to relate to a current conversation. He started to think that maybe Puck was right; maybe his shoving the past down deep was more painful than letting it out. But he’d been doing it for so long, Alex wasn’t sure how to do anything else. He knew he couldn’t just start talking about the past. He worried that it’d all come out at one time, that he’d be hit from behind by a huge wave and would only find himself spinning and drowning and floundering, unable to find his way up or out.

Plus, he knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping well. He still had losing his room hanging over his head, and his heart ached at the thought of leaving it all behind. It wasn’t much by most people’s standards, but it was everything to him. He rolled over, facing Puck and Mercedes’ doors, both left open intentionally a crack to make sure that Alex was okay, and he amended his thought. Maybe his room wasn’t everything. Not anymore.

The next day, he awoke with Puck and Mercedes, who shoved cereal and coffee at him before they all walked out and went their separate ways at the train station. Mercedes had an early class, clearly one she wasn’t excited about attending, and Puck had an early shift at the bookstore. Alex had been told by both jobs that he could take as much time as he needed, but he needed the money. However, he had one stop he wanted to make before heading up to the chop shop.

Marcel didn’t seem surprised to see him when he opened the door. “Let’s go into my office.”

“This isn’t about Mace,” Alex said as soon as he and Marcel were seated.

“You sure about that?” Marcel asked.

“Umm, up until right now?” Alex said with a little smile. Marcel just smiled back at him silently for a moment, which made Alex a little uneasy. “What?”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you make a joke.”

Alex frowned, tracing back through his memory.

“You’re looking me in the eyes now. And you’re talking in complete sentences.” Marcel leaned back. “Hanging around Puck and Mercedes seems to be doing you some good.”

Alex found that he didn’t even want to stop the smile from spreading across his face. “They accept who I am now.” He looked down at his hands pressing against the bag on his lap.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yes,” Alex said, and the word sounded weak. So he said it again stronger. “But… But Puck and I were talking after we scattered Mace’s ashes up at the Meer, and he was saying that maybe burying the past just gives it more power, that maybe if it’s let out instead, it might hurt really bad at first, but eventually the good memories will outshine the bad.”

“What do you think about that?”

Alex’s hands moved up to grip the strap on his bag. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Is what I think important?”

“Yes!” Alex burst out, sliding to the edge of his seat, staring hard at Marcel, hoping he’d understand. “I don’t want – what if he’s wrong? What if the past gets out there, and it doesn’t get better, and it gets worse, and there’s no way to put the damn genie back in the bottle – ”

“Stop.” Marcel held out a hand. “Just stop. And breathe a second.”

Alex closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them back up.

“Okay. Let’s make it simple. What’s the best that could happen?” Alex sat there, mouth open, unable to even imagine that.

“You could deal with the pain in your past, allowing yourself the freedom to be open to possibility.”

It was like Marcel had suddenly started speaking a different language.

Marcel shook his head. “How about we try thinking about the worst thing that could happen?”

“The memories overpower me and burrow into my brain until I’m practically comatose and unable to even form a coherent thought, and I’m put into a mental institution. Since I’m poor, I’d end up going to one of those state run things where they leave you lying in a pool of your own filth, and the nurses take money so people can have sex with you.”

Eyes wide, Marcel exhaled. “Wow. Just – wow.” He sat back and ran a hand over his face. “You should speak to a licensed psychologist. We have two who volunteer here, and they’re both really good.”

“No.” Alex said. It hadn’t been easy coming to Marcel, but he knew Marcel had lived on the street, had seen a lot while helping out his mother. He’d watched Marcel’s thoughtfulness, his nonjudgmental attitude with the people who came through the shelter. He didn’t know these other two people, and he wasn’t about to sit there and explain himself to a stranger, especially not when he had Marcel.”

“I gotta say that I’m feeling a little out of my depth here. I’m still – ”

“Marcel,” Alex said, putting a hand over Marcel’s on the desk. “I know you and trust you.”

Marcel’s eyes managed to get even wider, and he turned his hand to hold onto Alex’s, squeezing it before letting it go. “Okay, then. I guess we’ll just feel our way along, but promise me that if at any time you don’t feel comfortable talking to me or want someone with more experience, you’ll tell me. I won’t be hurt.”

Alex knew that Marcel was trying to be truthful, but he’d totally be hurt if Alex asked to see someone else, because this was personal for both of them, and that’s one of the reasons why Alex trusted him so much. That was okay, though, because Alex wasn’t going to change his mind. “Promise.”

“Okay.” Marcel took a breath and thought a moment. “I don’t know what happened in your past. I do know that odds are, you weren’t living the perfect life before one day you decided to move to the City to become homeless. It seems to me that we all look at life through glasses colored by our past; it’s just that some of us pretend that our glasses are clearer than they are. Pretending that our glasses are clear doesn’t mean that it’s the truth, and it can color how we look at things in such a way that we close ourselves off.” He looked pointed at the bag on Alex’s lap. “Let me guess. That contains some ties to your past, maybe pictures or little knickknacks.”

Alex felt his face get hot, but he remained silent, his eyes focused on the bag. He watched his knuckles turn white and forces his hands to relax.

“How long has it been since you’ve even looked at anything in there?” Alex tried to remember but couldn’t recall looking in the bag since he’d put the stuff in there before he left… well, just before.

“So you’re carrying around a bag of your past, ready to defend it with your life, yet you can’t bring yourself to look inside?”

Alex sighed. “When you put it like that…”

Marcel raised his eyebrows.

“My past is always with me, even when I’m trying to ignore it.”

Marcel opened his arms in a there-you-go gesture.

“So you’re saying I should go through the bag?”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Marcel said.

“But that’s why I came here!” Alex practically wailed.

Looking amused, Marcel said, “You have to choose what’s right for you. Maybe you’re ready to go through the bag; maybe you’re not.” He thought a moment. “On second thought, I _am_ going to tell you what to do. Don’t mess with the bag yet. Some time today, I want you to take one memory – a good one – and think about it. It doesn’t have to be anything big. It could be one day when it was beautiful outside, and you walked to the park. It could be a day you played with your dog in the yard. Whatever it is, just take it out and look at it.”

“And then what?” Alex asked, wary. That seemed a little easy.

“The next day, take out another memory. When and if you feel comfortable, share it with someone. You don’t have to make it a big deal, and you can share it with Mercedes or Puck or a stranger in the street. “

Alex nodded.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Alex took a deep breath. “Tonight’s my last day in my room.” Closing his eyes, he fought back the tears.

“Mace’s stuff?”

Alex nodded, eyes still closed.

“First of all, you didn’t fail.”

Alex’s eyes popped open in surprise, and he stared at Marcel, wondering how those few words could mean so much when he didn’t even know he needed to hear them.

“You didn’t lose the money or your job. You didn’t spend it on something frivolous or use it to feed your addiction. The only reason you can’t afford it is because you took care of a friend.

“Now, what’s your plan?”

“I’m going to pack up my stuff as soon as I leave here and turn in my keys.”

Marcel looked at him expectantly.

“And then I’m going to head into the shop and then go to the restaurant.”

“Where’re you sleeping tonight?”

Alex closed his eyes. He just couldn’t say it out loud.

“Come here, at least for the night.”

“I can’t,” Alex whispered, tears making his throat tight. “The restaurant closes at midnight tonight.” If he were lucky, he’d get out by about twelve thirty, and the shelter locked down for the night at ten.

“Ask them to let you out early.”

Alex shook his head. It was bad enough that he had to explain about Mace’s death. He wasn’t about to explain that he was homeless again. He just couldn’t. He took a couple of deep breaths, waiting until he could speak without crying. 

“I’ve done it before. I can do it again.” He didn’t want to look at Marcel and see pity. That would be the end of it.

“Alex.” Marcel wouldn’t be ignored. Alex looked up and found only understanding in Marcel’s eyes. It meant almost as much as his earlier words. “Promise me you won’t give up.”

“Like Mace?” Alex whispered.

“And so many other people out there.”

Alex knew he wouldn’t find himself in Washington Square Park trying to score, but he really felt as though he were on a dangerous, scary precipice. “I can’t promise not to O.D. on ice cream, though.” He caught Marcel’s curious look. “Sorry. Inside joke.”


	14. Will the Real BAMF Please Stand Up

Chapter 14: Will the Real BAMF Please Stand Up

 

Puck knew that this day was going to be really difficult for Alex, but it had been too late to try to find someone to take his shift, and he absolutely had to go to band practice. They had a gig the next weekend, and they were going to play some of his stuff. He’d finally convinced them to add a mashup that had come to him and he’d been working on. It’d become pretty personal, and it was important that it be perfect and ready in time for their gig.

Mercedes had a light class load, but Puck wanted to be the one to be there for Alex. Mercedes was a good friend, but Alex was… more for Puck.

When did Alex become more?

Puck shook it off and finished his shift at the store, getting something from the café from dinner using his discount before heading back to Brooklyn to Tyler’s apartment for rehearsal.

“How’s your boy?” Tyler asked as he and Puck tuned their guitars.

“Not so good,” Puck admitted. “A good friend of his died the other day, and he spent all of his money to get him cremated so he wouldn’t end up at Potter’s Field.”

“Dude, that’s rough,” Jimmy, the drummer said, leaning over his kit, sticks loose in his hands.

“And now that he doesn’t have the money to pay for rent, he’s homeless again.”

“Shit,” Duane, their fourth band mate replied, his guitar hanging against his back as he absently played a few notes on the keyboard.

“The thing is, Thomas is leaving to move in with his girlfriend – that he got pregnant – ”

“But that’s perfect,” Tyler pointed out. “Thomas is out; your boy’s in there.”

Puck shook his head. “He won’t do it.”

“Why not? He needs a place to live; you need a roommate.”

Puck looked at Duane. “Alex is like that horse in that movie you made me watch, where he’s ready to run every time someone gets too close. We’ve just gotten to the point where he sleeps over on the sofa every once in a while, and he looks guilty for that.”

“I swear, your life is like a fucking soap opera,” Jimmy said.

“So what’re you gonna do?” Duane asked.

“Mercedes and I have to sit down and come up with a plan,” Puck said. “It’s just kind of hard with our schedules, and all of this just happened. I figured we could let him stay on the sofa temporarily,” he used his hands to make air quotes around temporarily, “and maybe just slowly turn him into our roommate.”

Tyler laughed. “Leave it to you to sneak someone as a roommate without them knowing it.”

Puck grinned. “What can I say? I got skills.”

The rest of the practice went really well, and Puck made sure they were out early enough for him to get to where he needed to go.

“See you later, Puck. Guys, you ready?” Tyler asked.

Puck stopped, frowning. “Where’re you guys going?”

“To the bar.” Duane tilted his head down the block.

“I’m not invited?”

“Dude, you haven’t been interested in going out since you started hanging out with your boy.”

“That’s not…” Puck frowned, realizing for the first time that it was true.

Tyler patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I mean, I never thought you’d be the first one to get tied down, but okay.”

“I’m not tied down,” Puck insisted. Weakly.

“Bless your heart,” Duane said, patting Puck on the cheek before looking at the others. “Bless his heart.”

“Bless your heart,” the others repeated, laughing as they headed down the sidewalk.

Knowing that he had other, more important things to do, Puck pushed the thought aside and texted Mercedes as he headed to the metro station.

A few seconds later, his phone rang. “Where are you?”

“We just finished. Where’re you?”

“I just got home,” Mercedes said. “How’re we gonna play this?”

“I figured that tonight, I’d just bring him home, let him sleep on the sofa.”

“What about tomorrow and the night after that?”

“One day at a time, Aretha. Maybe if we just keep doing it day by day, he won’t notice he’s become our roommate until it’s too late to make a stink about it.”

“You think he’d go for that?” Mercedes’ voice was doubtful.

“It’s amazing how far we’re willing to delude ourselves sometimes,” Puck said, thinking of past mistakes.

“He has so much pride,” Mercedes said.

“We’ve been playing this whole thing as it comes,” Puck reminded her, “and look at how far we’ve come.”

“True,” Mercedes sighed. “Should I get the sofa ready for him?”

“Let’s not act like we have it planned. Are the blanket and pillow still on the sofa from last night?”

“Yep.”

“Keep them there. It’ll just look like we didn’t have time to put them away.”

After a pause, Mercedes said, “I walked into Thomas’ room. It’s so empty that it’d have an echo if it didn’t still have a bed.”

“He left the bed?” Puck asked, wondering if there were any way they could talk Alex into sleeping in there.

“He’s not gonna do it,” Mercedes warned, totally reading his mind. “The sofa’s one thing; the bed in his own bedroom? Not a chance.”

“Yeah,” Puck admitted. “I’m at the station; we’ll see you soon.”

“Good luck,” Mercedes said before they said their goodbyes, and Puck headed down the stairs.

He managed to make it just in time, propping himself against the side of the restaurant as the door opened and the closing staff walked out. Everyone recognized his face after all the times he’d been around, so they nodded as they went their separate ways.

“Hey,” Puck said, watching Alex struggle with a cardboard box. He reached for the box. “Need some help?”

“I got it.” Alex said, jerking the box to the side, almost losing the small rolled carpet listing to the side.

Uncertain as to Alex’s reaction, he remained calm, made sure his voice was patient as he pulled out the carpet. “This should make it easier.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, his voice quiet and apologetic.

“Let’s go.” Puck turned toward the subway, hoping Alex would just step along with him. He’d only walked a few steps, realizing that Alex hadn’t moved, so he retraced his steps. “Problem?”

“I’m not a charity case,” Alex said.

“Ummm, good for you?” Puck asked, deliberately misunderstanding.

“I can’t just… just stay with you.”

“It’s one night,” Puck said, “you can figure out something tomorrow.” Alex still looked uncertain. Puck knew Alex wanted to come home with him, but he needed a reason that didn’t make him feel like he was pushing himself off on his friends. “Look,” Puck said. “If Mercedes or I needed a place to stay, and you had one, would you let us crash on your sofa?”

Alex nodded.

“So then why can’t we do the same thing for you?” Puck leaned a little closer to Alex, gratified when Alex didn’t lean away. “It’s what friends do for each other.” Taking a step back, Puck turned back toward the subway. “Now move your ass. It’s cold, and it’s late.”

They were just getting ready to turn the corner when two guys in jean jackets and hoodies ran toward them, one with a gun.

“Give us your money,” the guy with the gun said, and Puck’s heart stopped. His first thought was not to look closely at their faces, figuring they’d be less likely to shoot him if they knew he couldn’t identify them.

Hands up, he slowly reached for his back pocket to take out his wallet. The guy without the gun grabbed it and tried to take it, but it was chained to Puck’s pants. “Wait! I have to –”

A cry of pain grabbed his attention, and he turned to see Alex fighting with the guy with the gun.

“Alex!” Puck shouted as his friend wrestled with the man’s gun arm. A movement to his side reminded him of the other guy, and he managed to kick the guy in the junk and punch him in the face a few times before turning to find the other guy howling, clutching his bleeding face with both hands.

“You’re crazy!” The guy said, turning and running away.

The guy on the ground beside Puck pulled himself up and limped after his friend, bent over and groaning as he left.

Alex turned to face Puck, and Puck saw the blood running down his face. He ran up, taking Alex’s face in his hands, his heart pounding so hard he heard it in his ears. He couldn’t lose Alex, not now. “Where’re you hurt?”

Alex opened his mouth, and Puck saw something shiny between his teeth. Reaching up between them, Alex pulled the object out of his mouth, and Puck could see that it was a razor blade. Puck breathed a sigh of relief but wasn’t convinced that Alex wasn’t hurt. Pushing him away, Puck looked Alex up and down, his hands on Alex’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m good,” Alex said, holding up his other hand, and Puck saw a large piece of glass. Alex looked at it for a second before wiping it on his pants, repeating the process with the razorblade. He shoved the razor inside his front left pocket and slid the glass inside the sleeve of his right sleeve.

“What… what was that?” Puck asked, still trying to catch his breath.

Alex shrugged, wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve, and Park marveled at how calm he seemed. “They probably thought we had something of value in the box.” He chuckled. “How little they know.” He bent down, throwing the gun in the box he’d dropped before picking it back up. Turning toward Puck he asked, “You’re okay, right?”

“If I can find my heart from when it leaped out of my chest, yes,” Puck said, huffing a laugh. He picked up the carpet and threw his free arm around Alex’s shoulders. “You, my friend, are a true BAMF.”

As they stood in the surprisingly full car, Puck stared at Alex, seeing him in a totally different light. His focus outside, Alex wasn’t paying attention, so Puck could look his fill. He’d changed since the first time they’d run into each other at Momma Cass’. For one thing, his hair had grown, although it was still way too short for Puck’s liking. He’d filled out a little too, and he didn’t seem… fragile anymore. In fact, Puck thought as he watched people move around Alex as they stepped onto the platform, Alex wasn’t invisible anymore.

He thought about what had just happened, impressed that not only had Alex not wet himself, but he’d taken on the guy with the gun without a word and ended up scaring the guy away without speaking a word or, it seemed, even getting out of breath. Puck wondered if Kurt had been through something like that before, and he decided that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He was just thankful that they were safe.

He wondered what Alex was gonna do with the gun.


	15. All Roads Lead To Marcel

Chapter 15: All Roads Lead to Marcel

Mercedes bit her lip and looked at her watch again. Even with slow train service this time of night, Puck and Alex should’ve already been back. She’d texted Puck, but he probably hadn’t gotten it yet if they were still underground.

She’d already finished her homework and set out the Chinese takeout. She felt a little bit at loose ends and tried to watch TV, but her mind kept straying.

There was no question that Puck would do whatever he had to do to get Alex to come home with him tonight; the difficult part was figuring out how to keep him there, where he belonged.

Eventually, Mercedes heard the key in the lock and had to make fists in order to keep from jumping up and running to the door. She reminded herself to stay calm as they walked into the room, Alex with a box and his customary bag, Puck with his guitar and the carpet they’d given Alex.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Puck turned to Alex. “I want to see them.” Alex cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know what I mean. Where do you hide them?”

Sighing, Alex put down the box. He reached into his jacket pocket and came up with something so small that Mercedes couldn’t make it out from the chair. She stood and walked closer. “Is that a razor blade?”  Alex held it out, and she automatically took it.

He reached into his right sleeve and pulled out a wickedly large piece of glass.

“What is that?” Mercedes asked.

“That’s his shiv,” Puck said. “Any more?”

After pausing a moment, Alex sighed and pulled another object out of his sleeve. Mercedes and Puck leaned closer for a better look. “And what’s that?” She asked.

“Another shiv,” Puck answered, “made from a toothbrush, it looks like.”

Mercedes couldn’t figure out how Puck felt about all of these things, but she had to say that even though she hadn’t thought about it, she wasn’t surprised that Alex would have stuff to protect himself. After all, Momma Cass did that whole frisking thing before people were allowed in the shelter, and she wouldn’t have done that if there hadn’t been a need. Since she was sure she’d missed out on a lot, she decided to stop asking questions until she could figure out what was happening.

“Doesn’t it get crowded in your sleeve there?” Puck asked.

Alex shrugged. “Normally, I keep the glass underneath my sock.” He bent down and pulled up his jeans slightly.

“That’s why you put the box down so slowly back there,” Puck said, flopping onto the sofa.

“Okay, what’s going on,” Mercedes demanded.

Puck sniffed the air. “Is that Chinese?”

Putting her hands on her hips, Mercedes growled, “That depends on whether or not you’re going to tell me what happened.”

“I’ll let the superhero tell you himself while we eat,” Puck suggested. “I’m starving.”

Over bites of General Tso’s chicken and sesame noodles, Mercedes learned about how she almost lost her two boys.

“You both could’ve been killed!” Mercedes fairly shouted, hand to her chest.

“Superman here wasn’t even breathing hard when it was over,” Puck said, and Mercedes could almost see his chest growing with pride.

Alex shrugged, picking up some noodles with his chopsticks. “It wasn’t really a big deal.”

“How is having a gun to your face not a big deal?” Mercedes asked.

Alex chewed thoughtfully, looking her straight in the eye. “I’ve dealt with scarier people and situations.”

Mercedes didn’t know what to say to that.

Fortunately, Puck didn’t have that problem. “Dude, when I get famous, I’m totally hiring you to be my bodyguard.”

Alex smiled slightly.

“Do you think you hurt him badly?” She asked.

Alex shrugged. “Not my problem.”

She felt a little uncomfortable about his blasé attitude toward the violence, although she could understand where he was coming from. She knew she’d grown up in a kind of bubble, and the more she saw out in the real world, the more she appreciated how her parents had sheltered her. It also made her sad to realize that Alex had been sheltered as well when his dad was around, but he’d been thrust into the world unprepared and alone. However, where others around him hadn’t made it, he’d managed to not only survive but thrive. It was her turn to feel pride for her boy.

“I almost forgot.” Puck reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out two brightly colored pieces of paper, handing one to Mercedes and Alex. “This is for our gig next week. Aretha, I know you have rehearsals, so you’re excused – unless for some reason, it’s cancelled. Alex, your presence is mandatory.”

Alex looked uncomfortable.

“We’re going to be playing a couple of those songs I’ve been working on, and I want your opinion.”

“I’m no expert,” Alex said.

“But I trust your opinion,” Puck said, looking at Alex, and it was like Mercedes wasn’t even in the room.

She sat there watching the two of them stare wordlessly at each other and realized that while maybe nothing was happening physically between the two – she would totally know if it were – they were already connecting emotionally. Maybe a few months ago, she would’ve been worried that Puck wasn’t ready for a relationship, but he’d changed since Alex had come into their lives. Mercedes wondered if he realized that he never went out to clubs and bars anymore, never crawled back into the apartment a little after dawn smelling like some stranger he’d met the night before. It was like Alex already filled that part of him that needed that connection.

She worried that it might be too much for Alex, though. Was he any way close to being able to handle a romantic relationship? He was just at the point where he could stand having a hand on his arm or a quick hug. He’d opened up to them a little, but he was still closed off emotionally. Plus, he was still trying to get his shit together. He was back to being homeless, and he’d just buried his friend. He still didn’t talk about before, when he was Kurt.

She just worried that Alex might backtrack if they went too fast, and that was something she refused to let happen if she had any say in the matter.

She looked back down at her flyer, the drawing looking familiar. “Puck, did you draw this?”

Puck’s sudden interest in the food on the coffee table amused her. “Yeah.”

“It’s really good.”

Puck looked up at her, the uncertainty his face reminding her of the artistic side he kept hidden. Sure, he really enjoyed music, and it was something he was comfortable with, but drawing seemed to be his passion. He usually kept it to himself; in fact, the only reason Mercedes knew about it was because one of his drawing books had been peeking out from underneath his bed when she came into his room with a package his mom had shipped to him after he’d recently moved in, and she’d picked it up before he could stop her.

What she’d seen had blown her away. He’d had drawings of everyone from glee, his sister Sarah, his mom, and several of naked women (she didn’t even want to know). They were excellent, and she’d told him so. The look in his eyes as he tried to pretend that the book wasn’t a big deal told her that her approval had meant a lot to him.

At that moment it had hit home for her just how much of his artistic side Puck had hidden from everyone back in Lima. If it hadn’t been for glee, he’d have shoved everything – his music and his drawing – under the bed. She hated to think of how he’d probably still be stifling it if he hadn’t moved up to New York.

“You drew this?” Alex picked up the flyer with more interest, and Mercedes held her breath. She doubted he knew how closely Puck held this to his heart, and she knew he could devastate Puck with the wrong words.

“It’s no big deal,” Puck said, forking more food onto his plate.

Alex brought the paper even closer to his face.

“Dude, don’t inhale it,” Puck said.

“Just looking closer,” Alex murmured. “You’ve included a lot of detail here. How long did it take you to do this?”

Puck shrugged.

“You’re really good.” Alex looked at Puck, obviously surprised. “Why aren’t you going to art school?”

“College isn’t my thing,” Puck said around a mouth of rice and chicken.

Alex cocked his head, a look that had Kurt all over it. “Learn that from experience, did you?”

Puck stared at him. “My grades in high school kind of pointed toward that,” he said dryly.

Alex closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath, and Mercedes got a little worried. Then he opened his eyes, resolve in them. “You spent most of high school either sleeping in the nurse’s clinic or skipping.”

The room became silent as both Mercedes and Puck stared at Alex. It was the first time he’d ever acknowledged the past. They’d gotten used to it and had stopped hoping for it or even expecting it. Now that it was here, they didn’t know what to do.

After a few seconds, Alex put down his paper carefully and picked up his chopsticks. “I’m just saying that you didn’t give yourself a chance. You’re way smarter than you think you are, and you’re obviously very talented. You’re surrounded by art schools - the New York Academy of Art, the Art Institute of New York, the School of Visual Arts… I’m sure there’re tons more out there willing to give you a chance. Maybe you could take some New School classes, show that you’re capable of getting good grades, get some good references... I bet you’d get in.”

Puck had stopped chewing when Alex had dropped his memory bomb, but he now resumed. “I’m good with how things are right now. I got my band and the bookstore.”

“You don’t have to choose one thing or the other, and you could probably go part time. People look at you different when you have a college degree.”

“Not the people I hang with.”

“Not now, but say your band gets a deal from a company. You could even take some business classes. I bet some of these colleges around here have some focused on entertainment business. That way, your band doesn’t end up like those ones that have to file for bankruptcy.”

“Alex, I appreciate the thought, but I’m good where I am.”

“Okay. It’s just that in high school, you were obviously smarter than you maybe thought you were.”

“Enough! You don’t see me pushing you to do stuff, like getting rid of that stupid bag you carry around with you everywhere.”

Alex looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself and nodded.

Mercedes had felt it coming, like the way the hairs on her arms would raise right before a storm, but she’d found herself unable to stop the situation. Puck had gone too far, and it was obvious from the look on his face that he realized that.

Alex had somehow managed to get paler, and he gripped the edges of his bag fiercely as he looked like someone had kicked them. Then, as if a switch had clicked in his brain, his face went blank, his eyes emotionless.

An awkward silence stretched over the room, and Mercedes had no idea how to make things more comfortable.

“Shit,” Puck muttered, wiping a hand over his face, “Alex, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Alex said, no inflection in his voice.

“No, it’s not.”

“I pushed; you pushed back.”

“But – ”

“Thanks for dinner,” Alex said, standing.

“We thought you could stay here for the night,” Mercedes said, her voice sounding smaller than she intended.

Alex looked at her, faint smile on his face. “Thanks, but I have plans.”

Mercedes automatically looked at Puck, but this time she knew he couldn’t help. Desperately wanting to make sure he didn’t disappear forever, she grasped for the first thing she thought of. “At least leave your stuff here, where it’ll be safe.”

After a brief second, Alex’s eyes on the carpet, he gave a brief nod followed by a softly spoken, “Thanks.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said earnestly.

She walked him to the door, waiting in silence as he put on his coat and arranged his bag. She opened the door, following him out, propping the door open with her hand. “You know he didn’t mean it,” she said.

He shook his head. “It’s been so long for me… I’m not used to…” he made a flipping motion with his hands and sighed. “Being friends is hard.”

“That doesn’t mean you give up,” she said.

“I’m not giving up.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck never cried. He had moments when he’d tear up or fight the urge to cry, but that wasn’t the same thing. No, what mattered was keeping those tear ducts shut the hell down. And usually it wasn’t much of a problem. But tonight, after his epic fuck-up, Puck saw a future without Alex, and it was enough to make him want to curl up into a ball and sob like a baby.

Puck couldn’t recall ever feeling like such a shit. He sat on the sofa, head buried in his hands, listening to Mercedes murmur to Alex outside the door.

He’d ruined it. Totally ruined it. All this time, he’d been worried that Mercedes would say or do something to run Alex off when it had been him and his dumb assed mouth to do it. And now Alex was gone, the only possibility of seeing him again resting on the box sitting by the chair Alex had just vacated – and they wouldn’t have even had that if it hadn’t been for Mercedes’ fast thinking.

He heard Mercedes close the door and walk back into the room, and he fell back against the sofa, head back. “I fucked up,” he said miserably.

Mercedes sat beside him, running a hand through his curly hair. “You made a mistake.”

He turned his head and looked at Mercedes. “Did I lose him?”

“Naw,” Mercedes squirmed into the sofa beside him, making herself more comfortable. “He needs some time to sort things out in his mind. Remember, he hadn’t really dealt with people much until we came along.”

“I was such an asshole.” Puck muttered. “For the first time, the first time, he says something about the past, and I have to jump all over him.”

“Maybe it threw you a little,” Mercedes said. “And maybe he pushed you a little hard, said some things you didn’t want to hear. He knows that. He feels like he screwed up too.”

“He was just giving advice to a friend.”

“Unsolicited advice,” Mercedes reminded him. “He’s not blameless in all this. It’s like he said. He pushed; you pushed back.”

A burst of hope rose inside. “You think so?”

Mercedes nodded. She got a look on her face, like she was debating about something, then said, “You two have gotten pretty close.”

“Yeah,” Puck said, drawing out the word. He knew she had more coming.

“How close?”

“What do you mean?”

“Puck, I see how you look at him. You’ve stopped picking up people in bars – heck, you’ve stopped even going to bars. When was the last time you had sex?”

That startled a half laugh out of Puck. “You’re asking after my sex life?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“You’re worried about Alex,” Puck corrected her.

“No, I’m worried about you both.”

Puck sighed again, turning his head away from Mercedes to stare at the blank screen of the TV. “I’m fine.”

“Are you? You two have gotten attached.”

“I know,” Puck sighed, repeating her words. “You’ve seen the way I look at him.”

“I’ve also seen the way he looks at you,” she said.

He stared at her, realizing that what he was feeling in his chest was the beginnings of hope. “And?”

“He looks at you the same way.”

Puck tried to stop the grin from spreading across his face, but he must not have been entirely successful, because Mercedes added, “Don’t go cheering just yet. He’s homeless, still not talking about Lima – even though,” she added quickly as Puck opened his mouth “even though he started tonight. He still has a long way to go.”

“And I sure as hell didn’t help,” Puck muttered.

Mercedes chuckled. “I thought I was going to be the one to mess things up.”

Puck tossed her a rueful grin. “So did I.”

“Hey!” She slapped his arm.

“So,” Puck sighed. “What do we do now?”

“I guess we wait, let him work out some things in his head.”

“In the meantime, he’s out there alone.”

“He has shelters like Aunt Momma’s.”

“Remember his hair when we first saw him? That was the result of a shelter.”

“If that happens, his hair will grow back,” she said.

“I just wanted him here. With us.”

“So did I, Boo,” Mercedes said, resting her head on his shoulder.

They just sat there a while, in silence, engrossed in their own thoughts.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

It’d been a long time since Alex’d had to sleep on the street, and he’d gotten soft. He hadn’t kept up with the news, wasn’t sure about the lay of the land anymore, who was the most dangerous, who’d fallen by the wayside. He didn’t know the safe places to lay his head, the places claimed by people who’d slit his throat before he had a chance to apologize for stepping in the wrong turf. He wasn’t as bad off as he’d been when he first stepped foot in the city, but he wasn’t far off. Before he’d moved into his own place and started hanging out with Mercedes and Puck, he’d have known about Mace long before Momma Cass.

Now he had to find a safe place to bunk down. All of the shelters had long locked their doors for the night, so his goal was to just find a place he could press his back against and wait for morning.

He spent the ride back to Queens mentally reviewing the different alleys and streets he knew, trying to recall the locations of construction, the places where new stores had opened and others had closed. By the time he stepped out of the train station, he had a couple of ideas and headed to the location he thought would be the most favorable.

He’d turned the corner and was heading toward a little nook he’d remember noticing a while back when a man stepped in front of him. Alex stopped but didn’t step back. He could feel the tension radiating off the man, smelled the desperation, and knew he was facing an addict going through withdrawal.

The men he and Puck had encountered earlier hadn’t really been that dangerous, because he’d just been opportunists, guys who wanted an easy buck. Those people could be dissuaded from messing with you when you made it clear that it would be easier for them to just walk away, that dealing with you would be more difficult than they’d originally thought.

But addicts didn’t think clearly. Every thought was consumed on the steps they had to take to keep using. Running on desperation, they would kill for the chance that there might possibly be something of value that they could exchange for their drug of choice. And this is what made them the most dangerous.

Slowly sliding his back behind him, he made the motion with his hand that slid his shiv into his palm.

And then he waited.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

After two days, Puck grew ansty. He hadn’t heard from or seen Alex since the blow-up, and he was worried. He waited until Mercedes was in the shower before grabbing her phone and finding Marcel’s number, dialing it on his phone and walking back into his room.

“It’s Puck, Mercedes’ friend,” Puck said when Marcel picked up. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you’d seen Alex in the last couple of days.”

“I haven’t, but let me ask my mom. Do you think you have reason to be worried?”

“Actually –“ Puck heard the shower stop and realized that he wanted to talk to Marcel personally. “Is there anyway we can get together to talk? I have to be at work in half an hour, but I could be up at the shelter by about about six fifteen, six thirty.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Great,” Puck said, adding, “thanks.”

“No problem, bro,” Marcel said, grin evident in his voice.

Puck hung up feeling optimistic for the first time in days.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Mercedes finished getting ready for her day, listening as Puck got into the shower. She used the time to pick up her phone and make a call.

“Marcel, it’s Mercedes. I was wondering if I could come up so we could talk.”

“What time are you free?”

“Actually, I was thinking maybe I could meet you now. It wouldn’t take me long to get there.”

“Don’t you have class?”

“It’s an intro English class, and my missing one class won’t ruin my GPA. Besides, this is more important.”

“How about I come to you? We could have breakfast.”

Mercedes smiled, the first genuinely pleased one to cross her face in days. “That would be terrific.”

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Marcel hung up the phone and looked apologetically at the young man sitting across from him. “Sorry about that.”

Alex shrugged slightly. Any more movement hurt.

“So what’s going on? Besides –“ Marcel gestured toward Alex’s body.

“I got into a… thing with Puck the other day,” Alex said. “It wasn’t really a fight.” He sighed, watching his finger trace a pattern on the desk. “It was my fault.”

“Did he do this to you?” Marcel suddenly seemed bigger and more foreboding.

“No,” Alex said. “Puck wouldn’t hit me.” Maybe years ago in Lima, but not anymore, he thought.

Marcel sat back in his seat. “Friends fight. Families fight. It happens.” He paused a moment, staring at Alex, and Alex had to fight not to shift in his seat. “Did you do your assignment?”

Alex nodded, feeling something inside seize up.

“How did it go?”

Alex wasn’t sure what to say. “I said something about how Puck used to be in high school.” He frowned.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have…” It was all mixed up in his mind, and he couldn’t tell if the argument had started because of what he’d said or because he’d pushed too much. “I made Puck mad.”

“Why do you think he got mad?”

“I said stuff, stuff I shouldn’t’ve said.” Alex rubbed at his eyebrow. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…” he couldn’t seem to find the words, but maybe it was because he just wasn’t sure of what he was trying to say.

“Did you mean to make him angry or hurt his feelings?”

“No!” The last thing he’d wanted was to upset Puck. He hadn’t eaten much in the last couple days, more because he just wasn’t hungry than the fact that he really didn’t have the money. He kept picturing Puck’s hurt face, and it made his stomach cramp up.

He hadn’t realized that he was rubbing his stomach until Marcel looked at it. “Are you having pains inside?”

Jerking his arm back to his bag strap, he shook his head. He knew what to look for with internal injuries, knew to check stomach for sensitivity, knew to check his urine for blood.

“Maybe you should apologize.”

Alex frowned and shook his head. “It wouldn’t do any good. I messed up.”

“How do you know unless you try?”

Alex continued to shake his head. “I really messed up.”

Marcel looked at him steadily. “Are you worried that he won’t forgive you or that he will?

“Things have been going really well, right? You had a place and friends and two jobs. And then suddenly you lost your first friend here, and you lost your room.”

Alex tried to blink a familiar sting from his eyes.

“Maybe you thought you didn’t deserve your other friends, so you push them away before you lose them too.”

Frowning, Alex thought about Marcel’s words. Was he doing that? “So, what am I supposed to do?”

“First, you need to know that you do deserve friends. You deserve a good life.” Alex nodded, but evidently that wasn’t enough for Marcel, who sat forward, arm outstretched on the desk, inches away from Alex’s hand. “You need to believe it, in here.” He patted his chest with his other hand. “It won’t happen automatically, but you need to continue to remind yourself.

“Losing Mace and your place aren’t reflections on who you are as a person. Bad things happen to good people; your friendship with Puck and Mercedes is one thing that you can control. Call them. Visit them. Apologize.”

“Okay,” Alex whispered. He had a lot to think about. “Thanks. I’d better get to work.”

“One other thing,” Marcel said as he and Alex left the office. “This didn’t happen, because you chose to talk about the past. I want you to do it again, say something else about the past to someone. Just one thing.”

Alex sighed, and Marcel laughed. “You thought I’d forgotten about that, didn’t you?”

“I’d hoped,” Alex confessed, grinning sheepishly.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Marcel picked Mercedes up from her apartment, and they walked down the street to a diner that she and Puck liked. The waitress nodded at them when Mercedes pointed to a booth along the side.

“You come here often?” Marcel teased.

“How would you get that idea?” Mercedes grinned back.

The waitress handed a menu to Marcel and poured them both glasses of water. They gave her their drink orders, and she left.

“What’s good here?” Marcel asked.

“Everything Puck and I’ve tried here is really good. They put their bananas in the batter for their banana pancakes, and their bacon is really crispy.” Mercedes gave Marcel time to peruse the menu as she tried to organize her thoughts. She was proud of herself for waiting until they’d given their food orders to the waitress before getting to the point of their meeting. “Thanks for meeting me. Things aren’t going well with Alex, and I’m not sure what to do.” She started playing with the condensation on the side of her orange juice glass. “We haven’t seen or talked to him in a couple of days, and I’m worried about him. Because he spent all of his money taking care of his friend Mace, he had to move out of his room a couple of days ago,” she told him, noticing that he didn’t seem surprised. “And then he and Puck had… it wasn’t an argument, really. Alex talked –” she remembered another thing and said excitedly, “he talked about the past! About when he was Kurt!” She shook her head. “But anyway, so Alex was suggesting that Puck go to college, maybe for art or something, and Puck wasn’t interested, and Alex kept pushing, and Puck got defensive, which made Alex freeze up.” She shook her head, remembering the sinking feeling she’d had while watching it all unfold. “It was like I was watching a terrible scene in a play. I wanted it to stop, but it was like I couldn’t do anything but sit there.”

“It was probably better that you let it unfold naturally,” Marcel said, taking hold of one of Mercedes’ hands. “It was between the two of them, and that’s where it belonged.”

She smiled at him, curling her fingers around his. There was something soothing about Marcel. She didn’t know if it had to do with all that he’d gone through in his life, but he seemed confident, sure of himself. She’d enjoyed the time she’d spent with him. She hadn’t realized that such confidence was so sexy. She also liked his size, that he was such a large man. It made her feel more feminine, something that didn’t usually happen – and something that never happened to her back in Lima. It helped that he treated her like a lady, opening doors for her, seating her before he sat himself. He really listened when she talked, and she trusted him.

It also helped that he was sexy as hell.

“I don’t know where he’s sleeping,” she said quietly. “He can’t go to any of the shelters, because they all close before he finishes working at the restaurant.” She’d been lying in bed the night before, unable to sleep, thinking about all of the horrible things that could happen to Alex. She leaned forward, whispering, “what if something happens to him? We’ll never know.”

“The police give Mom regular updates. In fact, sometimes she goes down to the morgue to identify them. She’s the one who ID’d Mace and let Alex know that he was gone.” He caught her eye. “Alex is fine.”

She perked up at that. “You’ve seen him?”

Marcel nodded. “I don’t know where he’s sleeping, but I can tell you that he’s alive and breathing.”

“Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

“I have to keep what he said to me in confidence,” Marcel said, holding up a hand when Mercedes opened up her mouth to protest, “just like I don’t tell anyone what you and I talk about.”

She shut her mouth, glaring at him, because she knew he was right. “Fine,” she said, squeezing his hand to let him know that she understood. “So what should I do?”

“Give Alex a little time. He’s had a lot to deal with this past week: he had to say goodbye to the person who kept him alive when he first got here, he lost the roof over his head, and he had his first fight with a friend. He needs to process it. Just make sure you’re there when he comes back.”

“If he comes back,” she muttered sadly.

“When he comes back,” Marcel corrected.

The food arrived, and Mercedes exhaled, imagining the negative energy flowing out of her. “Enough about that. How are you doing?”

She settled and began to eat as she listened to Marcel discuss his classes and the challenges he’d had since they’d last connected.

Puck ran to the back door, breathless, and pushed the buzzer. Everything had gone wrong. He’d ended up leaving work later than planned because Damn Rebecca had been late – again – and then he’d had to wait for a second train, because the first had been too full. Then, right before his stop, the train had ground to a halt, just sitting there, delayed. If he hadn’t already been running late, he’d have relaxed and enjoyed the view, but instead, he kept glaring at his watch. He’d called Marcel and left a message, but he didn’t know the other man’s schedule. Maybe he had another appointment or had some place to be and wouldn’t have time for Puck.

Damn Damn Rebecca.

“Puck,” Marcel said, opening the door and stepping back. “I got your message.”

“Sorry I’m so late,” Puck muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marcel said. “It gave me some time to take care of a few things.” He led the way into a small office with a desk, motioning for Puck to take a seat. “So,” Marcel said, closing the door and sitting behind the desk, leaning forward to clasp his hands on the desk.

“It’s about Alex,” Puck said immediately. He figured he’d been late enough that he could forget all of the niceties and head straight to the point. “I’ve lost him. I was an ass to him two days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. I thought maybe I’d give him some time, not pressure him by showing up at either of his jobs, but Mercedes and I are worried that something’s happened to him. He’s back on the street. I know he’s lived on the street before and all, but that doesn’t mean that he’s going to be okay this time.

“Our roommate left the other day, and we were hoping that we could convince Alex to move in with us. We weren’t gonna pressure him, just, you know, start him on the sofa, since he’d slept there once before. And then we were gonna just kind of slide him into the bedroom.” He continued before Marcel had a chance to speak. “We weren’t going to force it on him as much as kind of sneak him into it, hoping he’d realized he’d moved in with us a few months later, when it was too late to make a big deal out of it.”

Puck had to stop to take a breath. “I know it sounds kind of shitty, but we were worried about him, and if he’d decided to move somewhere else, we’d support him; we just didn’t want him sleeping on the streets again. Which he is.

“Mercedes says that you’ve helped her figure out stuff, and you’ve been homeless, so I thought maybe you could help me figure out a way to get Alex back.”

Spent, he sat back.

Marcel smiled. “Feel better getting that off your chest?”

“A little,” Puck admitted.

“Even though I don’t have specifics about your argument, I’m sure you haven’t lost him.”

Puck wanted to believe that; he really did. But as more time passed without word from Alex, the more he thought that he’d screwed up things for good.

“Alex has been through a lot of upheaval in his life. Maybe he just needs some time to figure it out.”

“We were supposed to be there to help him,” Puck said, pressing against the desk. “We’re supposed to be his safe place.”

“That’s a pretty tall order,” Marcel said. “You can’t protect someone from the world, especially someone who’s survived as much as Alex has.”

“I know that,” Puck chuckled. “That night, I picked him up from the restaurant after it closed, and some guy tried to hold us up. He was amazing.” Puck sat back, grinning. “He kicked that guy’s ass, had him running away like a little bitch.”

Marcel smiled. “Does that sound like someone who needs – or wants – to be protected?”

“I guess not. He just looks so frail, even with his hair growing in. He’s too skinny.” Puck paused, thinking. “Yeah, he’s a badass, but he’s just getting to the point where he can look people in the eye again. It’s like…” Puck took a moment to gather his thoughts. “It’s like he’s remembering that he matters. He was invisible out there on the street, but he was remembering his worth.”

Marcel tilted his head. “I like the way you put that. ‘Remembering his worth’. Can I steal that?”

Puck couldn’t help but laugh. “Help yourself.”

“How are you feeling about your falling out?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“So whatever made you two angry isn’t going to come up again?”

“I won’t let it.”

Marcel looked thoughtful. “Getting angry is inevitable.”

“Yeah, but I won’t snap at him like I did last time.”

“What’ll you do the next time he pisses you off?”

“I don’t know,” Puck said, feeling himself getting defensive. “I’ll suck it up.”

“You’re the perfect model of self-restraint,” Marcel said, smiling.

Marcel’s amusement was starting to piss Puck off. “Look, I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep him in my life.”

“Are you sure that’s what he needs, though?”

Puck didn’t understand. “Are you saying that he doesn’t need me in his life?”

“I’m saying that pretending isn’t the kind of foundation you want to build a friendship on. There’s nothing wrong with getting pissed off from time to time. Perhaps you two need to work on how you handle it. Because while I can’t claim to be as close to Alex as you are, I know him well enough to know that _he’s_ not going to be able to suck it up.”

Puck’s anger dulled to a simmer. “So what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t hide it when I’m pissed off.”

“Anger is part of the human condition. To ignore it isn’t going to benefit either of you. What you want to try to do is work through the anger.”

Puck thought about it. Maybe the mountain was right. Obviously, when things got sticky, Alex’s habit was to run. Maybe Puck’s was to shut down. He wasn’t much of a talkative guy, but he’d make the effort for Alex. Slapping his hands on his thighs, Puck stood. “Thanks, man, I appreciate the time.” He held out his hand.

“Anytime,” Marcel said, returning the firm grip.

Puck walked out of the shelter, small smile on his mouth, plans already forming in his head. He figured he’d wait until after his gig, and then all bets were off.


	16. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who stuck with this and read it all the way through, especially those who read as I posted each chapter each day and took the time to comment (Shout out to you, jasondragon64!!!). No matter when they're written (today, next week, next year), comments are always appreciated.

Chapter 16: New Beginnings

Alex pressed his back against the building, staring across the street at the lights and the crowd. He hadn’t expected so many people, had thought he could just slip in unnoticed and slip out the same way. But now, one hand clenched around the money in his pocket and the other holding on to the flyer Puck gave him, he was uncertain about his plans. He looked around, part of him wanting to just slip away into the night, no one the wiser, but the other part of him, the one who was determined to keep moving forward, forced his legs across the street to stand in front of a large black bodyguard.

After a moment of silence as they sized each other up, Alex pulled out his money and shoved it at the guy.

Other than staring down at the money and then back at Alex, the man didn’t move.

“It’s twelve bucks to get in, right?”

The man eyeballed Alex then nodded toward the side.

Alex’s eyes trailed down the line he’d totally managed to ignore, staring at the finely coiffed and realized that he could’ve had twice the admittance fee and still wouldn’t be let in the place. He’d been so focused on saving the money and getting off work and worrying about what he was going to say that it never occurred to him that they wouldn’t let him in. He supposed he should be impressed that Puck’s group was getting to be so popular, but all he could feel at that moment was regret.

He turned and was about to walk away when he heard, “Hey, you with the red flyer!” He looked back down at the flyer and then absently at the door, not really thinking that he was the one being addressed when he made eye contact with a guy with a dark blue Mohawk and way too much eyeliner. “Where’d you get the flyer?”

He had to clear his voice before he could respond. “My friend gave it to me.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Noah Puckerman.”

The guy looked him over, an expression in his eyes that Alex couldn’t recognize. “What’s your name?”

“Alex.”

“Alex what?”

“Just Alex.”

The man leaned over the big bodyguard and pointed to something on the clipboard. The man arched an eyebrow but then unfastened the rope and stepped back.

Surprised and a little wary, Alex remained still.

“You’re Puck’s friend, the one he’s been hanging out with instead of going out with us, right?”

Alex really didn’t know what to say to that, but he managed a partial nod.

“Come on, then. I gotta get back.”

Finally moving, Alex stepped around the bodyguard and followed the Mohawk into the darkened room. Once inside, he was stopped by a woman, and the Mohawk guy said, “He’s cool. He’s with us.” And Alex was motioned forward again. Once inside a huge room filled with people, Alex started to get nervous. Loud music pumped throughout the room, interrupted by various shouts and shrieks from the audience. He wasn’t used to being around so many people, and it felt threatening. Shoving the money deep into his jean pocket and the flyer into his jacket, he grabbed hold of his strap with both hands.

“C’mon,” Mohawk said, but Alex could only shake his head. “You sure? I bet Puck would love to see you before the show.”

Alex shook his head again. He found he couldn’t speak and was too nervous to try to force it.

“Okay, well enjoy the show. Promise you’ll stay after, though.” Mohawk didn’t seem inclined to leave until Alex nodded, and he smiled before disappearing through the crowd.

Falling back on old patterns, Alex didn’t make eye contact with anyone but continuously glanced at people from the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t remember being around people so well dressed and so… groomed.

Hiding a smirk at his thoughts, he ignored the waitress who kept giving him furtive glasses every time she passed by him on her route to the bar.

The opening band sucked. Okay, Alex thought, maybe they weren’t that bad, but they really weren’t all that good either. They couldn’t decide what kind of music they wanted to play, whether they were a cover band or just a mediocre wedding band. Parched and famished, Alex looked longingly at the bar and thought of the money in his pocket. Less than five minutes later, he held the most expensive glass of soda ever and had parked himself right by the little condiment tray at the bar, sneaking lemon wedges and olives when the bartenders weren’t looking. Having mastered the art of being invisible, he didn’t have to worry too much about being noticed.

The band finally finished, and Alex guessed about ten minutes went by, people in black changing things on stage, before he heard someone announce Puck’s band. He briefly glanced at the stage, did a double take, and everything around him ceased to exist.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck sat on a folding chair, fingers drumming absently on his lap. Normally about this time, he’d be feeding on the excitement from the crowd, letting it course through him. He’d be standing at the door, bouncing on his toes.

But all he could think about was the fact that the one person he’d really wanted to show wasn’t going to be there to hear his two original songs or hear the mash up he’d convinced the band to do.

“You’ll never guess who I ran into,” Duane said, standing above him.

“Oh – is it that hot chick from the other night?” Jimmy asked, twirling his drumsticks.

“Nope. It’s Puck’s boy.”

It took a few seconds for Duane’s words to filter into Puck’s consciousness. “What?”

“Which boy?” Tyler asked, at the mirror adding more eyeliner.

 _“The_ boy,” Duane said. “He was getting ready to leave – he didn’t tell the bouncer that he was on the VIP list, and he isn’t exactly dressed to impress,” Puck opened his mouth, but Duane continued, “but I got him in. He wouldn’t come back here, but I got him to promise to stay until after.” Duane frowned. “At least I think I did. Guy doesn’t talk much.”

Puck’s mind raced. Alex came! He wanted to get up and rush right out there, but they had a gig to do. “Let’s get this show on the road!” He leapt up and left the room, barely noting Tyler’s confused, “but the opening band isn’t finished yet.”

He stood at the curtain, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for the opening band to finish. Absently biting at his fingernail, he scanned the audience, trying to catch sight of Alex.

“Dude, he’s out there,” Duane said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You need to focus on our set.”

“I’m totally ready,” Puck said. “Let’s bring it.”

“All right then,” Tyler said, walking onto the stage.

Blinking, Puck realized that the opening band had finished what looked like a while ago. He grinned, waiting until Jimmy’d passed him, before walking onstage himself.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

When he saw the guy with the mohawk who’d helped him get into the club step onstage, Alex straightened up from his position by the bar and walked slowly toward the stage. He saw Puck emerge and gulped down the soda he’d been nursing.

He knew Puck was attractive and had a certain magnetism, but whatever that unnamable quality was, it fairly glowed off of him onstage. He’d done something with his hair so his Mohawk bent over slightly at the top, looking all kinds of fantastic. Where the others had poured on the eyeliner, Puck seemed to have put on just enough to make his eyes pop. His grin held just a touch of naughtiness that promised a good time that would make the object of his affection remember with a smile for months afterwards.

“The one with the black t-shirt, that guitarist, is so hot,” a woman said, and Alex looked over to find a blonde in a tight black Columbia University t-shirt that she’d cropped to show off her abs.

“His name’s Puck,” the dark haired girl with a similar crop top, hers in pink, said.

“You know him?” The blonde asked, and Alex wanted to walk over and brag that _he_ did. It was a strange feeling, one that had him frowning so much that he almost missed the dark haired girl’s response.

“Biblically, if you know what I mean.” The two women laughed.

The urge to punch both women in the face was so strong that Alex forced himself to move away. He absently placed a hand over his beating heart. What did he care that Puck’d had sex with that girl? Never mind that her hair was filled with broken ends and that her nose had a strange hook. While he didn’t brag, Puck had never kept the fact that he had a very active sex life secret. Besides, he was a guitarist in a band. Add to that his charm and his good looks…

Alex shook his head, wondering why he’d come. “This is stupid,” he muttered, turning to go.

“We’re EastSideWestSide, and we’d like to warm you up with a couple of tunes you might know. Feel free to sing along.”

Despite himself, Alex felt himself turn and listen. He wasn’t familiar with the song, but it seemed like he was the only one in the room with that problem. Of course, he was probably the only one whose relationship with music for the past two years consisted of Spanish tunes blaring out at the chop shop as he dismantled cars. He didn’t know the latest Lady Gaga hits, but he could throw down with Juanes.

Hands on his strap, he smiled faintly as he looked around the room, everyone’s attention on the stage, everyone except for him loudly singing along. They were really good, he thought, proud and happy for Puck.

That song turned into another song that everyone knew, and then after the applause and whistles, Puck stepped back up to his microphone. “This is an EastSideWestSide original. Some of you may have heard it once or twice before.” The opening bar had quite a bit of the audience screaming and clapping, so Alex figured it was a popular song among the band’s following.

Sometime during that song, Alex allowed himself to relax slightly, remembering why he’d enjoyed going to concerts. He loved the feeling that at this one time, in this one place, he and all the other people in the room had reached common ground. It made him feel included and special in a way he couldn’t quite define. He simply let the music rush over him like warm water in the shower, clapping along with everyone else whenever they’d pause in between songs. His eyes rarely left Puck.

Eventually, the other band members walked off, the lights onstage dimmed, and Alex figured that it was an intermission, getting ready to head back to the bar to swipe another lemon slice. But after a moment, he realized that a follow spot tracked Puck to a keyboard, where he sat and played a few notes before moving the microphone closer to his mouth. “So I have this friend,” he started out, fingers still moving over the keys, “and we’d lost touch for a few years before running into each other not too long ago. Things have been difficult for my friend, and I’d been wracking my brains trying to figure out a way to say how much our friendship has meant to me. So, this is for my friend. But – ” he stopped playing and looked out at the audience. “ – this is also for all of you who don’t realize your worth. Each of us is different, and that makes us special. We should always celebrate our differences.” He turned toward the piano, paused for a moment, hands over the keys.

A few wolf whistles had him grinning sidelong at the audience, creating even more catcalls and screams, before he started singing slowly. It took Alex a few seconds before he realized that it was a slower version of a song he actually recognized.

“Do you ever feel like a plastic bag,  
Drifting through the wind,  
Wanting to start again?  
Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin  
Like a house of cards,  
One blow from caving in?”

Puck paused for a moment, letting the last notes of the piano ring out. After a few seconds, his brought his hands back down on the keyboard. His eyes glued to Puck, Alex barely noticed the other band members quietly resuming their places on stage.

“Do you ever feel already buried deep?  
6 feet under screams but no one seems to hear a thing  
Do you know that there's still a chance for you  
'Cause there's a spark in you”  
You just gotta ignite the light, and let it shine  
Just own the night like the 4th of July”

Puck paused again, but this time when his brought his hands back down to the keyboard, the stage burst into light, and the other band members joined in a wave of sound, a bombardment on Alex's senses that disoriented him yet added to the tone of the song.

'Cause baby you're a firework  
Come on, show 'em what you're worth  
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh"  
As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Baby, you're a firework  
Come on, let your colours burst  
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh"  
You're gonna leave 'em all in awe, awe, awe

The music changed slightly, and it took a moment for Alex to realize that Puck was doing his own mash-up. A few seconds after that, and Alex realized that the person Puck had been speaking about was him. Exhaling at how long it’d taken him to realize something so obvious, Alex began to pay more attention to the lyrics.

Pretty, pretty please  
Don’t you ever, ever feel  
Like you’re less than  
less than perfect  
Pretty, pretty please  
If you ever, ever feel  
Like you’re nothing  
You are perfect to me

Alex felt his eyes start to burn, but he couldn’t bring himself to press against them to stop it, because that would block his view of Puck, looking so beautiful in the light, singing so sweetly to him. _For_ him. He barely noticed when the music altered again, mixing the two songs as the band repeated the last chorus and Puck sang:

'Cause baby you're a firework  
Come on, show 'em what you're worth  
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh"  
As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Baby, you're a firework  
Come on, let your colours burst  
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh"  
You're gonna leave 'em all in awe, awe, awe

They somehow managed to finish at the same time, and Alex found himself clapping along with the rest of the crowd.

After what must have been at least a minute of insane cheering, one of the other guitarists spoke into the mike. Because the screams hadn’t died out, Alex missed the fist bit, but he was focused on Puck’s grabbing his guitar and returning to his mike.

“… this is one of our new songs, written by our own Puck.” He gestured toward Puck and had to wait a few seconds for the screams to die down a little. They launched into a much louder version of the song Puck had played for Alex the first time they’d hung out in Alex’s room. Alex noticed that some things had changed, Puck had reversed the verses and added a new bridge, but it had all made the song better. It was really good, Alex thought, feeling his heart pound so hard that he just wanted to scream and let out some of the emotion he was feeling inside.

Unused to all of the emotion, he had to close his eyes a moment and ride out the panic that threatened. It’d been so long that he wasn’t sure what to do with all of it.

Fortunately for him, he was ignored and managed to regroup enough to enjoy the rest of the concert, only being able to tell the difference between their original songs and the covers by the comments made by the band throughout the evening.

The show ended way too soon, the restlessness of the crowd agreeing with him. They continued to chant the band’s name until they came back out, singing another three songs, and then they all left the stage for the second, and final, time.

People started to meander toward the exits, but Alex stood there, uncertain of what to do. Feeling a chill on his face, he pressed his hands over his cheeks, surprised at the drying tears. He used one of the napkins he’d grabbed from the bar and wiped, embarrassed at the show of emotion. But everyone around him was excitedly talking to each other, not paying attention to him at all.

Eventually, he spotted a small, enthusiastic crowd over by stage right, and he wandered over. Two large bodyguards – one of them the guy who’d let Alex in – stood, arms folded, ignoring the people trying to cajole their way backstage. Alex hovered at a distance from the crowd, unsure about what to do. He’d promised that guy that he’d stay, but was he supposed to go someplace out back? Or maybe he’d forgotten… but Puck had dedicated that song to him, and Puck wouldn’t have forgotten that Alex was there. So Alex waited.

Eventually, the bodyguard made eye contact with him and nodded. Confused, Alex nodded back. The man unfolded his arms and gestured for Alex to come closer. Stepping hesitantly toward the man, Alex felt his face growing hot as people started looking at him.

“… looks like a street person…”

“...who let him in here?”

“… bet he smells…”

Tamping down hard on the urge to just run, Alex ignored the comments he heard. As he passed through the crowd, a thought popped into his head. Puck had been singing to _him_. Puck had put _his_ name on the guest list, even though he wasn’t sure that Alex was going to come. Puck wanted him there.

He raised his chin, cocking an eyebrow defiantly. He could hear Puck in his head, “Just fuck ‘em all.”

The bodyguard gave him a little smile as he moved just enough for Alex to slip past him, and Alex couldn’t help but smile gratefully back at him.

The only experience Alex’d had backstage had been in his previous life, and what he could remember didn’t resemble anything like the chaos he found when he walked through the opening in the curtains.

It was way quieter, less… dramatic that he’d imagined. Maybe it was because they weren’t as big as Aerosmith or the Stones, but he’d expected to find half naked people running in and out of various rooms, alcohol spilling freely, noise blaring.

Instead, the hallway was only occupied by a couple of people dressed in black, the only loud sounds coming from a room down the hall, and it just sounded like a few people laughing.

He slowly made his way down to the room, eyes noting the exit sign, flickering toward and then away from the various people he passed. Stopping just short of the open doorway, he took a breath. This was going to be the first time he’d seen Puck since their… thing… and he wasn’t sure exactly how to act. He hadn’t been lying when he told Marcel that he couldn’t remember how to be a friend. He always felt awkward, nervous that he’d mess up, and then that’s exactly what he did. He’d missed his phone calls to Puck, listening to the silly messages Puck would leave him on his voice mail. He missed having Puck sling his arm around Alex’s shoulders or the way Puck would bump their shoulders together. He missed spending time with Puck, talking with Puck, just… just being with Puck.

He realized that Puck had gently led the way, letting Alex follow in his path, as if Puck knew that Alex wasn’t sure of what to do. So he hoped he could walk up to the door, and take his cue from Puck, just like he’d done before.

Pausing midstep, he thought, what if he messed up again, the next time so horribly that Puck never forgave him? He looked longingly at the exit. Maybe he should just leave now, he thought, and spare both of them.

“Hey.”

Startled, Alex took a step back.

The mohawked guy stood in the doorway, smiling at him. “I was just going to come look for you.”

Alex opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Puck’s in the bathroom; come on in.” The guy went into the room, and since he didn’t know what else to do, Alex followed him inside.

“Guys, this is Puck’s friend, Alex.”

A chorus of “oh hey” and “finally” accompanied Alex into the room.

“That guy over there is Tyler,” he nodded to the guy seated in front of the mirror who was in the process of taking off his makeup, “and that’s Jimmy.” Jimmy was lying on the worn-looking sofa the back of the room.

They all shared nods, and Alex stood there, arms gripping his strap. He wracked his brains for something to say. “And you’re…” he thought about how Tyler had introduced all of the band members at the end. “Duane?”

“Dude, you didn’t even introduce yourself?” Tyler said, laughing.

“I figured Puck had talked about us,” Duane said, throwing up the bird. “Alex, you want a beer?”

“No thank you,” Alex said. “Puck did talk about you. Some.” He wasn’t sure what to say. Puck had never really said anything bad about his band members, but he didn’t want to accidentally bring up the wrong thing or mention something that Puck had maybe said to him in confidence. “I just hadn’t seen you before.”

“I’m sure he told you how I was the best looking out of the band,” Jimmy said, spinning the drumsticks still in his fingers, reminding Alex of how Puck had told him that they seemed to be with him all the time, another body part.

“Don’t confuse him,” Tyler said. “I’m the best looking.”

“And yet I’m the sexiest,” Duane said, twisting open the bottle of beer he’d grabbed from a cooler in the corner.

Alex’s attention was caught as he stared in the mirror, watching Tyler scrub at his face. He tried to hold it back but finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked over to the man. “You’re going to damage your skin if you keep wiping at it like that.” He eyeballed the cloth, recognizing it with horror. “Is that one of the bar napkins?”

Tyler nodded, looking at the napkin with suspicion. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing if you want to look like Keith Richards before you’re thirty,” Alex muttered, looking around. He spotted drawers running underneath the three mirrors in the room and started opening them, remembering how people always left stuff in them. Spotting a traveler’s size pack of q-tips in one, he smiled. Grabbing them, he looked around. “Anyone have any makeup remover?” The blank looks didn’t surprise him. “How about baby oil or Vaseline?”

Within seconds, he had both thrust at him, Jimmy with the baby oil, Duane with the vaseline.

Tyler looked at them. “What kind of kinky shit are you two up to?”

His face red, Jimmy said, “I use it to get latex paint off of me.” He turned to Alex. “I work for a painting company,” he explained to Alex.

“This is my go-to shit,” Duane said, unashamed. “I use it all the time. It’s why my lips don’t look like I’ve been smoking crack like yours,” he eyeballed Jimmy. “I put it on my elbows, on my face after I shave, and who knows when I’m gonna go get another tat?”

Alex took both items and placed them in front of Tyler. “Is there a place where I can wash my hands?”

Tyler tilted his head. “Across the hall. But Puck’s in there.”

Sighing, Alex looked around the room again. “Does anyone have any hand sanitizer?”

Tyler walked over to a bag, pulling out a container he tossed to Alex before returning to his seat. He looked around at his band member staring at him. “What? We go to some pretty nasty places.”

After adjusting his bag so it rested against his back, Alex poured sanitizer on his hands, rubbing them together until his hands were cool and dry. “Face me,” he said, all business, as he put some of the baby oil on the ends of the q-tip. He looked into the man’s eyes and froze for a moment. He closed his eyes for a second, took a breath, and looked at the q-tip. And then it all came back to him. Tilting Tyler’s face up a bit, he bent down and started cleaning.

GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE GLEE

Puck loved the rush of being on stage, hearing the audience scream and cheer and the best thing of all, hearing them sing the words he’d written. The more they played, the more their original songs were being recognized, and he loved the rush.

Without fail, though, the moment he walked off stage, he had to head straight for a bathroom. It was like his adrenaline could only work itself out of his body using the numbers one and two. And while his fellow band mates loved to tease the hell out of him about it, they always made sure that he had the unrestricted access he needed.

This time, though, he needed to take care of business fast. He was scared that Alex would leave, and Puck wouldn’t get a chance to see him, to clear the air. Duane had promised to go find him, but Puck’s mind was filled with the thought that if he didn’t go out there himself, he’d miss Alex completely.

He already missed Alex, missed him like they’d been best friends for years. He missed seeing the hesitant smile on Alex’s face, hearing him go on about his opinions about movies or musicals or books. He missed laughing with Alex, just spending time with his friend.

And he didn’t delude himself. While he had done his best to make sure that Alex didn’t notice, Puck knew he was falling for Alex. He missed Finn, his best friend all the way through school, but it wasn’t anything like he felt about Alex. He found himself having to force himself not to stare at Alex’s lips, at not letting his hugs last too long, when all he wanted to do was wrap himself around Alex and never let him go. But he knew Alex wasn’t ready for any of that. So he just reminded himself that they were friends. Unfortunately, that pep talk didn’t stop him from looking at women – and men – differently. He’d see a cute girl, flirt with her a little bit, because that’s just who he was, but he never found himself interested in sealing the deal. Or he’d make eyes at some guy, but didn’t feel the need to back it up with anything other than that. So for the past few months, he’d had to make do with his hand. He found himself coming in the shower, in his bed, Alex’s face in his mind, his name tracing Puck’s lips.

Taking care of business as quickly as he could, he flushed and washed his hands, practically racing to the green room, only to skid to a halt just inside.

Alex knelt between Jimmy’s legs, doing some sort of shit to Jimmy’s face.

Puck’s first inclination was to tear Jimmy away from Alex, thinking that it was just wrong for Alex to be between Jimmy’s legs and not his own. But he took a second and reigned in his thoughts, realizing that Alex was right in front of him. He’d stayed!

Alex looked up at the doorway, a small smile sliding over his face, and it was the most beautiful thing Puck had ever seen. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Puck said softly, feeling the return smile on his own face. He noted the bruises and made a mental note to have a discussion about that later. In the meantime, Alex was obviously okay, sitting there right in front of Puck.

“Dude, this is awesome!” Tyler was staring at his face in one of the other mirrors, hand rubbing up and down his cheek. “My face is softer than a baby’s ass! Usually it feels like sandpaper.”

“Being a rock star doesn’t have to mean that you look like twenty miles of bad road,” Alex said absently. He sighed and backed up, still on his knees. “You’re good.”

Jimmy put both drumsticks in one hand and smoothed his free hand over a cheek.

“Pretty sweet, right?” Tyler asked.

“I might never stop touching myself,” Duane said, lying on the sofa, eyes closed, fingertips from both hands trailing on his face.

Puck’s eyes immediately shot to Alex, and they shared a large grin at Duane’s words.

“That’s an inside conversation,” Tyler said, laughing.

“Your turn,” Alex said, patting the empty chair in front of him.

Swallowing, Puck found his heart starting to pound as he walked further into the room and sat down. “What are you doing to us?”

“I’m just taking off your makeup like a civilized person,” Alex said. He tilted his head toward the other three people in the room. “Remember, your hands have oils and bacteria on them, so you really shouldn’t be plugging your pores like that.” He noticed that all three continued to touch their faces, and he sighed, turning his attention to Puck. “Ready?”

“Sure. Should I close my eyes or keep them open?”

“Either way. You can keep them open if you want to watch me, make sure I’m not doing anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

“I trust you,” Puck said simply, feeling satisfaction at the impact his words had on his friend. He closed his eyes and waited.

After a few seconds, he felt a finger-light touch on his face, and he had to hold back a sigh. He kept his eyes closed, reveling in the feel of Alex’s presence, until he felt Alex withdraw. “I’m finished, “ Alex said softly.

Puck opened his eyes and found himself staring directly at Alex, and suddenly, it was as though everything he had wanted to say was in Alex’s eyes: I’m sorry, don’t hate me, I’ve missed you. And then he smiled, Alex smiling back, and he realized that he had his friend back. And this time, he wasn’t letting go.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EastSideWestSide's match up credit: Katy Perry's "Firework" and Pink's "Perfect".


End file.
